


We Made Each Other Bleed and We Tasted It

by ThatWouldBee_Enough



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Cheating, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay John Laurens, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, M/M, Pining, Post-Break Up, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWouldBee_Enough/pseuds/ThatWouldBee_Enough
Summary: It's been a few years since John and Alex ended things, but when they meet again at a friend's wedding– for better or worse– those feelings resurface.Title fromHappiest Yearby Jaymes Young
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 76
Kudos: 74





	1. Like a Star Out in the Cosmos

John feels his heart thrum too loud and fast behind his ribs as he checks the seating chart for a third time– cursing Lafayette and whatever crazy line of thinking possessed him to put himself and Alex at the same table. He _knows_. He fucking _knows_ their history. Knows that things _ended_ , and maybe they never told him exactly _how_ things ended but _still_. Then again… looking at the rest of the tables– their occupants written out in neat script– he supposes there aren’t a ton of options available. Theirs is clearly a table made up of Lafayette and Adrienne’s college friends, and they likely didn't want to alienate either of them by shafting them off to some table with Lafayette’s aunt or whoever. Especially since neither of them had brought a plus one– and _that_ makes John wonder because last he was aware Alex was still dating Eliza. 

He’s glad the ceremony was large and elaborate enough that he didn’t notice Alex sooner. He had slipped in right before the ceremony started, taking the first seat he could find near the back of the church. He had been running late– his flight delayed and the car from the airport stuck in traffic. He barely had time to swing by the hotel and drop his luggage off before rushing there to see his friend say “I do”. 

He’s surprised Alex made it _at all_ considering the time he probably had to take off from work, but there he is, already seated at their table. 

John wants to kick himself because his first thought is how goddamn _good_ he looks. His suit looks new, and it’s tailored well, clinging to his shoulders, and John can see the slight flush in his cheeks already, red from the wine and laughter as Hercules cracks some joke. John knows he shouldn’t just be standing here, staring, and eventually he’s going to get caught doing so. He forces his feet forward, one begrudgingly in front of the other, making sure the seat he takes is a few spots down from Alex, allowing them to avoid any awkward small talk. Gives as cordial a smile as he can muster across the table. 

“Hey,” he says, raising his hand in an awkward half wave that feels somehow too casual _and_ too formal. “Long time no see.” 

Hercules grins and gives a quick greeting, but Alex absolutely beams, and John can tell that he’s taken advantage of the open bar plenty in the short cocktail hour between the ceremony and the reception. “Jack!” he says, leaning closer past the empty seats and reaching across the table to pat his hand. “How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in _forever_.”

Hercules shoots him a look that’s equal parts sympathetic and amused, surely aware of how fucking _awkward_ this whole situation is. 

John slips his hand out from under Alex’s and lays it safely in his own lap instead. He notices Alex’s eyes following the movement until he seems to catch himself, looking back up to maintain eye contact as he waits out John’s response. 

“I’ve been fine. Busy with work.” He pauses, wishing he had thought to get a drink of his own before sitting down. Considers his next question for a moment, knows it’s probably a bad idea for him to bring it up at all, but he can’t help the curiosity gnawing at him, especially with the warm, interested way Alex’s eyes are searching his face. “How are things with Eliza?”

His smile falters a bit, but he still doesn’t move out of John’s space. If anything, he leans forward to better hear him over the noise of the room, undeterred. “Good.” He seems to catch his own enthusiasm slipping, forces a wider grin onto his face, and when he continues he’s practically gushing. “Things are going really well. She’s been so good for me and her family has been super welcoming. We really just work, you know? I’m really lucky.” 

The smile on his face looks a little more real the more he talks about her, and John thinks maybe this would be the best time to go get that drink because he _really_ doesn’t want to be hearing about her– and yeah– he definitely shouldn’t have asked. 

“I’m just going to grab a drink. Be right back,” he promises, directing the words to both of them, but Alex is already standing, throwing back the rest of his wine in a swig that is far too much at once. 

He makes a face as it goes down a little too sharp, but swallows and turns to John. “I’ll go with you.”

“You really think you need another drink? They’ll be passing out champagne for the toast soon enough.” 

At that, Alex rolls his eyes and loops an arm around John’s, steering him toward the bar. “I think I would _like_ another drink, and if you’re getting up anyway, it’s better to have someone else to talk to while you wait.” John huffs a sigh, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. Just weaves through the thick crowd, pulling John along with him until they reach the end of a line that is admittedly pretty long and probably would have been a pain to wait through on his own. 

“So,” John prompts as they settle into their spot at the back of the line. “Where is Eliza tonight? Couldn’t make it?” 

“She does stuff with her family upstate every summer,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “She’s not super close with Lafayette or anything, so I told her it was fine if she wanted to skip it. Plus,” he adds, toying with his own fingers now as he glances down. “You know I’ve never been good with the whole idea behind weddings, commitment and forever and all that crap. Figured if she came it might open up a conversation I didn’t really want to have.”

* * *

John tugged on Alex’s hand, the both of them drunk and giggling as he led the way down the hall to his dorm. And _god_ he was so glad he’d let his dad pay the extra money for a single because he couldn’t imagine passing up the opportunity to bring Alex back to his room right now because of a damn roommate. 

Alex who had been his friend since freshman year. Alex who had been the object of his biggest crush to date for far too long now. _Alex_ who had spiked jealousy inside of him every time he went off with someone else at the end of a night out or told John stories about his latest hookup over coffee the next morning. 

For once Alex was coming home _with him_ and there was nothing to ruin the sheer perfection of the moment as he locked the door. As Alex wrapped his arms up over his shoulders, he threw himself at John, sloppy and too rough, but none of that mattered because it could be the worst executed kiss of his life and John would _still_ consider it the best. Because it was Alex. Because he finally got to taste those perfect lips and tug him closer by the waist and pull him down onto his bed. Alex finally wanted _him_ and that was the only thing that really mattered after spending years waiting for this. 

It wasn’t until after the fact, the two of them lying naked and exhausted on his bed, the smell of sweat and sex like a thick perfume, that John turned onto his side and admitted with the sort of sated and unthinking confession that only slips out post-sex, “Been wanting to do that for so long.” 

And if the words set off a flash of discomfort across Alex’s face, John didn’t have his eyes open to see it, his own pressed into the warm skin between his shoulder and neck. Alex hummed a little noise that could have been agreement and wrapped an arm around John’s back to squeeze him closer. 

It wasn’t until after John returned from the shower, towel still wrapped around his waist, that Alex told him he should head back to his own dorm. Wouldn’t let John talk him into staying– _just for the night–_ because yeah he didn’t fully grasp it at the time but Alex had commitment issues bigger than the state of Texas and convincing him into a relationship that lasted more than one week was probably one of the most difficult things John had ever managed to accomplish. 

* * *

John keeps an eye on Alex throughout dinner, even as the rest of their friends fill in the empty seats at the table and prod him with questions the same as everyone else, all of them reminiscing about the good old days and catching up on the latest life updates. Of course at some point the fact that he and Alex dated is subtly mentioned in the context of some other story, and _of course_ Hercules’s fiancée interrupts for clarification on _that_ because who wouldn’t want the full story, right? 

John is almost grateful for the way Alex’s already loose tongue is even more prone to jumping into conversation when he starts drinking because _he_ certainly didn’t want to be the one to explain it to her. 

“Yeah,” Alex tells her with a grin, but at least manages to sound a _little_ embarrassed that it had come up. “Uh, we dated for a little while. We got together…” He trails off clearly stuck on that point, then looks to John for help. “When was it Jack?” 

God, Alex must _really_ be getting drunk if he can’t remember something so simple. Or maybe that night simply hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to John so he didn’t keep the memory of it tucked safely away like old photographs in a shoebox, the images familiar and worn and cherished. “End of senior year.”

Alex nods emphatically, and John isn’t sure if it actually jogs his memory or if he just trusts that John remembers. Because _of course_ John remembers. It had been the culmination of years of pining. How could he _not_ remember? 

“Yeah, end of senior year!” He smiles again, and John can’t help the way it makes his heart flutter. It’s just a physical reaction, he reasons with himself. Nothing more than his heart picking up on something familiar, grasping for memories that had warmed his soul and stirred his body at the time. 

“Remind me how that one ended,” Aaron requested, leaning forward onto the white table cloth, his date leaning against him delicately with one hand on his arm. 

John shrugs and answers before Alex can let the truth slip out in his drunkenness. Because they had agreed ages ago that it would be best if their friends _didn’t_ know what exactly had caused things to crash and burn between them. “Alex had gotten that job offer in DC, and I was staying in New York. We figured it’d be better to just end things rather than stringing everything out and trying to make long distance work.” 

“Ah. Yes. And how’s the job going, Alexander?”

“Back in New York for the time being,” he replies reflexively, his words just shy of slurring at this point. “Working on a campaign for some guy.” 

“Wait.” John swallows hard, hoping the surprise and slight panic aren’t too obvious to everyone else at the table. “You’re back in New York?” 

“Yeah,” Alex tells him, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “I assumed you knew.”

John stares down at the last few bites on his plate, but he finds he isn’t very hungry anymore. Lets the next server who passes clear it for him and trudges back up to the bar for another– stronger– drink. He doesn’t get far before Alex shows up at his elbow again, startling him when he glances up from his phone while the person in front of him orders. “Fuck, stop _following_ me.”

“I needed another drink.”

“No. You didn’t. I made sure before I got up that you still had more than half a glass left.” 

Alex rolls his eyes at that, and the familiar gesture causes a brief flash of anger swell in John’s chest, but it also sparks something different, something more pleasant, along his nerves. Because no matter how hard he may have tried to get over Alex, there will always be a part of his heart that has a weak spot for his loud mouth and go-fuck-yourself attitude. 

“Look I just– are you okay?”

“No, Alex. I’m fucking not. I didn’t think I would see you here tonight, alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be at Laf’s wedding?” he asks, brow furrowing. 

“I don’t know. Work? It wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have skipped over to make sure you were perfectly lined up for your next big promotion.”

The woman behind them clears her throat, and all at once they’re both embarrassingly aware of how they’re holding up the line with their arguing. 

* * *

“Go out on a real date with me.”

“We’ve been over this a million times.” Alex let his legs dangle over the edge of the fire escape, huffing a sigh as the late spring breeze ruffled his hair. “And my arguments haven’t changed. I’m not made for that shit, Jack.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve never actually _tried_ to have a relationship.” 

Alex rolled his eyes and glared out towards the sunset where it was sinking below buildings, seeping through the cracks and making the entire city glow. The way it illuminated his skin struck John hard and fast– god he was beautiful– and he longed to lean over and capture Alex’s lips in another kiss. 

He didn’t. As much as John wanted to knock some goddamn sense into Alex at times, he wasn’t about to cross any of the invisible lines he’d drawn, no matter how stupid he thought they were. 

“Look, I’m not just playing hard to get here or something. I can’t do it. Period. End of story. I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand, but can you at least stop bugging me about it?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Alex let out a strangled sigh and leaned forward heavily against the steel bars. “I didn’t have the same picture perfect family to model healthy relationships that you did, okay? I’m pretty sure bad luck with shit like that is in my blood, and honestly? I’d rather not tempt fate.”

“Picture perfect?” John barked out with an incredulous, near hysterical laugh. “Alex, my dad’s a dick.”

“Yeah? And he loved your mom a whole hell of a lot from everything I’ve heard. You know what that sort of love is supposed to look like, and honestly? Good for you. You’re gonna make someone real fucking happy someday, but it’s not gonna be me, okay?”

John leaned his forehead to rest against the cool steel and let out a tense sigh. “It could be.” 

“ _Jack._ Even if I thought I was capable of all that, I don’t have the time. I’m taking eighteen fucking credits on top of the internship, and you know I’m not about to let my GPA slip for personal shit. And things are only gonna get busier after graduation, when the _real_ fun begins. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with all that.”

John pursed his lips and breathed in the crisp air of the city. “I might.”

“Jack, I’m fucking serious.”

“And so am I, Alex!” He turned so sharply he almost knocked his head against one of the bars, but he didn’t let the intensity fade from his eyes as he held Alex’s gaze steady. “What are you so fucking afraid of?” He grabbed Alex’s hand from where it had been resting against the metal grating behind him and held on tight, like his grasp on that hand was the only thing keeping him from drifting away entirely. Alex flinched but didn't pull away. “All I’m asking is for you to give it a real, honest to god shot.” He tried to put as much stubborn, desperate pleading as he could into his expression and– miraculously– something seemed to click. Or maybe Alex had just grown tired of his relentless persistence. 

“Fine,” he said, still staring out at the quickly fading light on the horizon. “But you’re paying, and you’re not bringing me anywhere I need to wear a fucking suit or any of that bullshit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, we're in for an angsty ride
> 
> Leave comments down below!
> 
> I'm over on tumblr @ilovefoodandgirls
> 
> Chapter title from _Six Feet Apart_ by Alec Benjamin


	2. And I've Got No Right But I Can't Help Thinking About You Tonight

John hadn’t _planned_ on getting absolutely wasted at Lafayette’s wedding, but then again he hadn’t accounted for Alex being there at his side half the night, so fucking irritating and insistent and _pretty_ in his stupid fucking suit. The type of suit he would have thrown a fit over wearing a few years back, but now that he had his fancy job working with politicians day in and day out, of course dressing _nice_ was no longer a foreign concept to scoff at. So John nurses yet another drink as he stares, gloomy and tense, off towards the dance floor where Alex is laughing and flushed and his hair is starting to get ruffled as he dances in the middle of a group of their friends. 

He feels more than sees someone sit down beside him, but he doesn’t turn to look yet. Just waits, letting his silence act as a challenge. If they want something they can damn well speak up and ask him. 

“You seem upset.” 

At the sound of that voice he _does_ turn because _oh shit_ he’s been ignoring the bride, and that’s a shitty thing to do on her wedding day. 

Adrienne looks resplendent in bright white lace, little floral embellishments scattered over her bodice and down the front of her skirt, and her face had matched that energy throughout the ceremony, mirroring the pure joy the day must hold for her and Lafayette, but now she just looks contemplative, perplexed, and John feels a stab of guilt knowing that the shift in mood is his fault. 

“I’m fine, promise. Congrats again by the way.”

She flashes him a bright smile at the words, but it quickly fades, her delicate brows pulling down in thought. “You don’t seem fine. You’re over here all by yourself.”

“Just needed a break.”

“John, don’t lie. You’ve been over here for a good while.” She pauses, follows where his gaze has been so stubbornly fixed for most of the night. “Is this because of Alex?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, but there’s no point in lying when she already knows. Plus he’s pretty sure lying to the bride on her wedding day is bad luck. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” She grimaces, and John genuinely believes the guilt on her face is authentic. “I _told_ Gilbert it would be awkward to seat the two of you at the same–”

“Addy,” he cuts her off, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. There wasn’t really a way around it, was there?”

“No,” she admits, toying with the freshly manicured nails of one hand in her lap. 

“Well, then,” he says with an air of finality, staring back out at the dance floor, at all of their friends, at Lafayette beaming and dancing along to the music with even less grace than usual. Of course, before long his eyes drift back to Alex. They always do. 

“Come dance with us.” Adrienne is already back on her feet, holding out a hand in offering. 

“Addy, I’m fine.”

“It’s my _wedding day_ , John. Come dance.” She grabs him by the arm and hauls him up, and he allows himself to be led over to their little group without any more protest. 

* * *

John grabbed Alex’s hand as they left the restaurant, their third date, just a week after the second, and Alex seemed to be warming up to the idea. At least, he wasn’t quite as stiff as he was on their first one, and he had let John take him somewhere a _little_ bit nicer. And he had actually seemed to enjoy the expensive cocktails and the way the desserts had arrived with decorative chocolate drizzled on the plate. Had licked some of it off his own finger with a coy smile and brushed John’s leg with his own under the table, and maybe it was only their third date, but they had had sex enough times by now for John to catch on to the not-so-subtle signals, and his body tingled with that familiar anticipation, so he called for the check the next chance he got, more than ready to head home. 

Alex had other plans. Rain had started coming down hard while they were eating. John cursed because he hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, but Alex just laughed, stepping out onto the sidewalk and tugging John along with him, spinning the two of them underneath the onslaught as people passed by huddled under their own umbrellas and raincoats, hurrying to their next destination. 

“What are you _doing_?” John asked, breathless with laughter himself now as Alex squeezed his hands, then stilled, stumbling a little as he came to a stop. 

“You’ve never wanted to just dance in the rain?” Alex gave him a cheeky smile, his face flushed and his loose hair plastered to his face. He looked radiant. “Release your inhibitions or however the fuck that song goes?” 

John raised an eyebrow. “There are probably hundreds of songs that mention dancing in the rain and that is actually not one of them, and _definitely_ not the one I would have thought you’d pick.”

Alex took a step closer towards the brick wall lining the sidewalk, backing John up against it as he advanced. He bit his lip, a surprisingly open and vulnerable look on his face, and tangled their fingers together again. “Just appreciate the sentiment, you dick.” 

Before John could respond with any teasing of his own, Alex’s lips were on him. His kisses were better, though slightly more practiced-feeling, now that he wasn’t completely drunk after a night out with their friends. John wondered how many other people Alex had kissed just like this. It didn’t matter. They’d never have the years of trust and friendship that he had with Alex after all. That solid, steady base that formed all lasting relationships. This was _different_ And Alex seemed different too– after just three dates. Like maybe he was realizing that he wasn’t as hopeless as he thought at all of this because _of course he wasn’t_. He was wonderful and perfect and smart and caring and beautiful and everything John wanted out of life. 

He ran a hand slowly down Alex’s side, his shirt absolutely soaked through with the rain, and felt him shiver. 

“I’m getting us a cab,” he told him, pulling away from Alex’s lips with reluctance. “You’re going to catch a chill out here.”

“No you’re fucking _not_.” Alex pushed away from the wall with a contrary laugh, already heading down the sidewalk and leaving John to jog after him. “We’re walking back, it’s not that far. Well, _I’m_ walking at least. It’s not even cold out and the rain feels _good_ , and you’re not ruining that by getting us a fucking cab.”

John sighed, but there was a hint of amusement in it. He glanced down at his own soaked through clothes– of course he had worn a white shirt tonight– but he couldn’t help smiling at how ridiculous Alex looked, stubborn as hell and soaked to the bone. “Fine, but you better warm me up when we get back.”

Alex turned to him with a wide, delighted grin, tugging John further down the sidewalk. “That can be arranged.”

* * *

John makes sure not to duck out again lest he offend Adrienne or Lafayette by being a depressing mess at their wedding. He stays up on the dance floor with their group of friends, dancing along to all the familiar songs and keeping a healthy enough distance from Alex. Lafayette is busy half the night mingling with the truly absurd amount of guests, so Hercules acts as their buffer most of the time, laughing and dancing with both of them, keeping them from drifting too close to one another. It works well enough until the music fades into a slow song and the crowd on the dance floor thins so it’s only couples left standing. John turns to head back to their table while he waits it out, but Alex catches him by the arm, his free hand held out in offer. 

“Alex," he says warily, trying to inject warning into his tone. They shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t be alone together at all, let alone _dancing_ together. 

“Come on,” he says, surprisingly soft. “It’s our song, Jack.” Alex bites down on his lip and waits, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. Fuck. John has _never_ been able to deny that look, and Alex is _well aware_ of that fact. 

The excessively familiar swell of music raises the emotions up high in his chest and John lets out a resigned sigh as he allows Alex to take his hand, pulling him back onto the dance floor with an ease that _shouldn’t_ feel so natural after several years apart. 

He doesn’t try to pull away, doesn’t even flinch, when Alex twines his arms up around John’s shoulders, tucking himself in close to his chest and starting to sway to the music. “You cut your hair,” John murmurs against him as he slips his own arms around Alex’s waist, his lips dangerously close to his neck where the fresh cut fades into stubble. 

“Ah, yeah,” Alex says, biting down at his lip and running one of his own hands over the back of his neck. “Just wanted to try something different I guess.”

John pulls his face back, staring up at Alex’s dark hair, memories of running his fingers through long, silky locks still fresh in his mind, finding Alex’s hair around his apartment, even after the last time he left.

“It looks good,” John tells him with a smile that’s mostly not forced. 

Alex grins up at him for a moment with flushed cheeks, pleased, before tucking his face in at John’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, swaying a little off beat to the music in a sea of bodies that mostly shields them from the eyes of their friends or anyone who would know why _this_ was probably a bad idea. When the chorus comes on, heartbreakingly familiar, it takes John a moment before he realizes Alex is quietly singing along to the words where his face is still pressed up against him, close enough to John’s ear that he can just barely make out the sound of his voice. 

John finds his face melting into a fond smile– hearing Alex singing along– it’s almost like they’re back in college, going out and getting drunk and dancing and singing along to the music, and he knows how _those_ nights usually ended. John presses his eyes closed tight and shakes his head just barely. He can’t let his mind entertain thoughts like that anymore. 

Still, he holds Alex against him a little more snugly as they spin in a slow circle. 

* * *

It was summer after senior year the first time John brought Alex home to meet his family. Fourth of July weekend. It was always a crowded celebration of extended family and friends featuring lawn games and swimming and barbecuing, and John figured at least Alex wouldn’t be the _sole_ focus of everyone’s attention this way. Plenty of distractions. He had timed it so they’d show up right before the party got started, no time for his dad to say or do anything to make things uncomfortable. They would show up, stay for a little while for small talk and drinks and family bonding, and then get the fuck out. Ever since leaving home, John found it was easiest to tolerate his family in small, contained doses.

It was a long ride down, but he preferred driving over the plane ride. It was easier to control their arrival and departure this way, plus it was more intimate. Just the two of them, one night in a hotel to break up the drive, then back on the road the next morning, watching the countryside pass them by. Alex was always so _busy_ , it was nice to force him to be still, even for a short while. 

He had his feet up on the dash, the window rolled down as they passed someone else on the long stretch of highway. If it were anyone else, John would shove them and tell them to get their feet down, but the rules never really applied to Alex. 

John leaned over to turn up the volume, a smile spreading on his face. “I love this song.” He glanced over at Alex, watching the sun reflect bright and warm off his face as his hair whipped behind him in the breeze from the window. “Reminds me of you whenever I hear it.”

Alex turned to him, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and John didn’t know _why_ he was surprised– didn’t he know John barely ever stopped thinking about him? “Really?” he sounded both amused and skeptical, like he thought he was being more cheesy than serious. 

“Yeah,” he told him, grabbing his hand and pulling it closer to rest against the center console with his, tangling their fingers together. “Might as well have been written about you.”

When John looked back over at him, Alex rolled his eyes, but he was also blushing, just barely. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

John just shrugged, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “I wish we could just keep driving, find a house to rent on the beach somewhere for the weekend instead,” he said wistfully. “I don’t want to share you with my family.”

When Alex laughed, staring up at him from his spot in the passenger seat, he looked a little bit wistful too. “Sorry, Jack. We’ve got the whole thing planned out already. I’m going to charm the homophobia out of your stupid, conservative relatives, remember?” He gave John a self-assured grin, the challenge already lighting a fire behind dark eyes. 

John squeezed his hand in response as he changed lanes to get over towards their exit. “Yeah, alright. You better bring your A game then.”

* * *

As the night progresses, some of the older guests– Lafayette and Adrienne’s family members mostly– take off and the party itself gets louder, drunker, more rambunctious. John’s taking a break from the dance floor– a beer in one hand as he leans back in his chair, eyes closed, head tilted towards the ceiling, the room spinning– when he hears someone plop down in the seat next to him. He’s pretty sure he knows who it is even before he hears Alex’s voice, too loud and too _close_. 

“You alright, Jack?” His words are slurring, and John’s pretty sure Alex is _at least_ as drunk as he is. Probably more. 

“Yeah,” he says without opening his eyes. “Just needed a minute.” 

“Been more than a minute.” John can hear the smirk in his voice, the way he raises an eyebrow and fixes him with an amused stare. 

“Needed _several_ minutes.” He blinks his eyes open but doesn’t change his posture quite yet, letting his body readjust to the novelty of sight before he dares to move. 

“Don’t remember you being a lightweight,” Alex teases, and suddenly his hand is on John’s upper arm, warm and bright with that electric energy that John had never quite noticed when anyone else touched him. Like he’s made entirely of lightning and adrenaline, and John is just doing his best not to burn up in it all. 

He swallows hard, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, well I’m not out drinking every weekend anymore. You don’t seem to be handling your booze so well yourself.” He straightens up, slowly, and turns to actually look at Alex properly now, face flushed with the alcohol warming his body, his jacket shed and sleeves rolled up to the elbow haphazardly as he bounces his leg along to the beat of the music.

Alex’s forehead creases at the jab. “Well, duh, but I was _always_ shit at that. Nothing new on _that_ front.”

John huffs a laugh, and he’s not sure if it’s because Alex’s hand is on him, or because the room is so fucking warm, or because he’s had a few too many drinks, but suddenly this feels less _dangerous_ and more _exciting_ , and he lets himself smile at memories of Alex and him going out on the weekends and ending the night with him hunched over in a mostly empty subway car, trying to keep himself more or less upright until he could fall into bed, John’s hand on his back rubbing soothing circles. 

He wants to reach out and touch _now_ , but he still has enough sense left to restrain himself. Because once he starts touching, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop, and that’s _bad_. For a moment he can’t remember why though. After all, Alex is warm and beautiful and here and _Alex_ so why would wanting to touch him be _bad_?

Some far-removed part of his brain miraculously reaches him before he can do anything monumentally stupid. The word is distant and echoing, like it’s been screamed out, but by the time it actually reaches the functioning part of his brain it's no louder than a whisper. _Eliza._

Fuck. He pushes his chair away from the table and stands, stumbling as he does and catching himself with his free hand. Alex gives him a curious, searching look, just a little concerned.

“I need some air,” he manages through the strangled panic rising in his throat. 

“I’ll come with you.”

John shoots him a look, hoping the warning comes across without words. _Don’t. This is a bad idea, Alex._ He’s not sure why he _doesn’t_ just say the words out loud, but when Alex follows him, he doesn’t stop him. 

* * *

Sometimes, it was hard for John to believe that this was all real. Not only had he managed to get Alex to sleep with, to get him to go out on a date with, but now it was several months in and he was _still here_. It felt too good to be true. The type of thing that happened in romantic comedies– light and fluffy and fills you with hope– but at the end of the day you know it’s just fiction. He pecked Alex on the cheek as he stood from their usual booth at the bar, asking the table as a whole– filled with a line up their college friends who hadn’t left the city for new job prospects yet– if they wanted anything while he was up. “Grab me another Jack and coke?” Angelica asked, seated on Alex’s other side and leaning forward with one elbow on the table.

“Sure. Anyone else?”

“Could you–” Alex started, but John waved him off. 

“Another dark n’ stormy, right? I got it.”

Alex flashed him a smile, almost too bright in the gloom of the bar. “You’re the best.” 

When John came back, balancing the three drinks in his arms, Alex was in the middle of a heated conversation with Angelica, leaning just a little too close into her space but– well– he was already a little drunk and it’s not like Angelica looked uncomfortable with the proximity. John shrugged it off. That’s just how Alex _was_. Affectionate, friendly, social to the point where it edged into annoying at times. He slid both of their drinks over, slipping back in next to Alex at the end of the booth. “Thanks, Jack,” Alex said, leaning in and planting a sloppy kiss on his lips, hand high on his thigh. 

“Gross, get a room,” Hercules teased from across the booth while the others snickered. 

“You’re just jealous,” Alex told him with a smug look. 

“I have a girlfriend, Hamilton.”

Alex just shrugged, still grinning. 

As the night went on, they eventually ended up at one of the nearby clubs. It was a familiar enough haunt for their group that the bouncer didn’t check their IDs at the door anymore, just waved them through into flashing lights and blaring music. As soon as they got into the main room, Alex hurried off to the dance floor with Angelica and Kitty while John and Hercules scoped out a table to claim. Once they had found a spot and ordered a few drinks, Hercules nudged him, then motioned over to the dance floor where Alex was pressed between the two girls, laughing as they both danced up against him. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Hmmm? What?” John asked, feigning ignorance. Because of course it bothered him _a little bit_. Alex and Kitty had had a thing at one point. It was short-lived and purely physical as far as he knew, but still, seeing them so close– seeing _both_ of the girls pressed up against Alex– well of _course_ he wasn’t thrilled about it. But that’s just how Alex was with people, and he _knew_ that when he had asked him out in the first place, and it’s not like he was expecting him to change. At least not right away. And it was _just_ dancing– harmless really– so he could live with that as long as he was the one Alex was going home with at the end of the night. 

Hercules rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “You want me to try and like… talk to him or something?” 

“Jesus, Herc. It’s _fine_. Really.” He pointedly kept his gaze at their table, on the condensation dripping down the side of the glass in front of him, avoiding looking at Alex and the girls. The _last_ thing he needed was Hercules going to Alex and implying John was unhappy with how he was acting, after all. He knew it was unreasonable to expect people to change overnight and more importantly he knew _Alex_ would see it that way too. That he’d be affronted by the idea of John telling Hercules he couldn’t handle him dancing with other people. Who _wouldn’t_ be? It wasn’t his job to try and change Alex. He knew that. “Don’t say anything. _Please._ ”

Hercules raised his brows, but shrugged. Took another sip of his beer. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

* * *

When John steps out into the night air, Alex is only a step behind him. Too close. Far too close out here where it’s dark and it’s just him and Alex and there’s no one to _stop_ them if anything happens. John takes a deep breath, tries to let the fresh air flood his lungs and clear out some of the haze in his brain– hoping maybe it will drown him and then at least he won’t have to deal with whatever the hell is going on– when he hears the flick of a lighter. He looks over at Alex with a raised brow. “You smoke now?”

Alex shoves the lighter back in his pocket and takes a long drag of the cigarette he’s holding. Lets out a relieved sigh. Shrugs. “Easier to get ahold of than adderall,” he says, and John can’t quite tell if that’s a joke or not. There’s a beat of silence, and John knows, from experience, that it won’t be long until Alex fills it. He can’t stand these awkward silences. As if on cue, he turns to John again. “Work stresses me out. I need _something_ to deal with that. To keep me focused and on my game.”

“I hear yoga can help with that type of shit.” 

Alex snorts a laugh, giving him an amused look, something harder to place dancing behind his eyes. “Yoga,” he scoffs. “S’like you dunno me at all, Jack. You really think I have the patience for _yoga_?”

John grins, locking eyes with him, and for a moment he doesn’t see the new haircut or the cigarette dangling between his fingers. It’s just _Alex_. _His Alex._ Like things never ended. Like they were still young and carefree and full of potential. Like there was nothing Alex could do to spoil that fantasy of _forever_ with him. 

And when Alex bites down on his lip, their eye contact stretching into something that probably should feel more uncomfortable than it does, John leans over just a little, enough that he could argue it’s an accident if need be– he is drunk after all– and brushes against Alex’s side, his hand just making contact for a brief second with the bare skin of his forearm. 

Everything that happens next is hurried and messy– a drunken, confused rush fueled by nostalgia and terrible impulse control– and John can barely keep up with the movements of their bodies as his mind grapples with the events. Alex leans towards him, free hand coming to tangle in John’s hair at the back of his neck as he presses his lips against him in a kiss, dropping the cigarette with his other hand and stomping it out absentmindedly. 

He tastes like smoke and alcohol and poorly thought out choices, but just like that first kiss, it doesn’t matter. It’s perfect because it’s _Alex_. Because it’s _always been Alex_ – and it’s fire and heat and violent flames– and John clings tighter as it consumes him, wraps an arm around Alex to grip fingers in at the small of his back, tugging him closer, closer, _closer_ until finally there’s not an inch of space between the two of them and everything is fucking _right_ with the world again for the moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying please leave a comment!
> 
> I'm over on tumblr @ilovefoodandgirls– come hang out over there too 
> 
> Chapter title from _What We Had_ by Sody


	3. Cause Wherever You are is Home

Back inside, on the dance floor with their friends once again, John’s head swims with the events of the night so far. He tries to make sense of it, but there’s too much noise, too many people, and his mind is full of a hazy smoke that’s making it difficult to pick apart his thoughts. And through it all there’s Alex. Vibrant and warm, laughing as they all bounce along to some upbeat song, nothing in his face to betray what happened between them outside. John’s not sure if he wants to punch him or kiss him again. He definitely wants to get him alone to try to find out though. 

In the moment, right after the kiss, he had been too shocked– too dazed by the feeling of those lips on him again– to properly question it. Had let Alex lead him back inside with a soft, “We should head back.”

He _should have_ questioned it. He should have _stopped_ it before it even happened. But goddammit it’s _Alex_ , and he’s never been able to say no to Alex. Why should this time be any different? And it’s not like that responsibility should fall on _him_ anyway. Alex should know by now how to keep his hands, and more importantly his mouth, to himself. If he can’t manage that, well it’s not _John’s_ fault that something happened. 

The logic feels sound enough, so he lets some of the panic inside of him ease, tries to appreciate the moment, all of their friends, Adrienne and Lafayette smiling and laughing as they dance along more enthusiastically than anyone else. For a moment he manages it, and it’s nice, simple, to just let himself bask in the pure joy that his friends are feeling, but it’s over far too quick when the DJ announces the next song will be the last of the night. 

It’s a slower song, romantic, and everyone around them either pairs off or heads back to the tables to start packing up their things. John moves to do the latter, but once again he feels a hand on his arm, stopping him. He has no doubt who that hand belongs to. Alex’s face is open and earnest now, and there’s a silent question there. This time John doesn’t even pretend to protest. Just allows himself to be tugged back onto the dance floor and wraps his arms securely around Alex. It feels distinctly different than earlier in the night, the weight of what they did outside weighing on him, but at the same time the weight of _wondering_ is lifted. Now, he at least has some inkling of what’s going on now, and there’s a slim margin of comfort in that. When Alex rests his head on John’s shoulder with a contented sigh, John secretly hopes the song will never end. 

\---

“Hey, you busy tonight?” John asked as Alex pulled his mug of coffee out from under the Keurig, mixing in just a little sugar before taking a sip. 

“Hmm? Why?” 

John couldn’t help the nagging feeling– a feeling that had become more familiar recently– that Alex was only asking to see if he wanted to come up with an excuse to get out of it. “Thought we could do something later. A movie maybe?”

Alex made a little sympathetic face, his lips pulling to one side. “Wish I could, but some of the guys at work invited me out for drinks, and it’s a good opportunity to get to know people, make some connections. Some of them can probably get me in though with some of the bigger campaigns in the state, or even in DC, if I make a good enough impression. Don’t really want to blow them off.”

John wondered, if the situations were reversed and he had already had plans with Alex, if he would blow _John_ off to network instead. He shoved that thought down deep and tried to force himself to smile. “Of course, that’s fine. Tomorrow?” 

“Laf’s in town, remember? We’re going out with him and the whole gang to some club.”

John huffed a frustrated sigh. “Shit. I forgot.” He didn’t say anything else, just pulled out his phone and scrolled through his apps, but Alex must have noticed the scowl on his face as he dropped down next to him on the couch. 

He didn’t make note of it at first. Just sipped his coffee and read through his emails, but after maybe five minutes of tense silence he cracked. “What’s your problem?”

“What?” John blinked back at him, feigning innocence. It’s not like he had _said_ anything after all. 

Alex rolled his eyes, undeterred as he placed his coffee down onto the table with unnecessary roughness. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re practically pouting. What the _fuck_ is your problem?” 

John felt his shoulders tense up at the sudden shift in tone, his eyes narrowing. “My _problem_ is that half the time it feels like you don’t even _want_ to go out with me. Just me, the two of us, alone. When’s the last time we even did that, Alex? Like a month ago?”

The look Alex gave him was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up as one of his hands instinctively curled into a fist. “Are fucking kidding me? We hang out all the time. You came over last night,” he practically shouted, motioning towards their surroundings, Alex’s apartment. 

“I came over because you wanted to fuck,” John told him pointedly, his voice flat. “Not because you wanted to go out and actually spend time with me.”

“Jesus christ.” Alex rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. “I don’t have time for this shit. I have to get to work.”

But he didn’t. Not yet. John glanced over at the clock on the microwave, knew Alex normally didn’t leave for another twenty minutes. “Running away from a conversation you don’t want to have. How typical.”

Alex’s face went cold as he bit the inside of his cheek, his whole body strained and itching for a fight now. But instead of yelling, spilling those venomous words that John knew he was so capable of, he shoved himself up from the couch and stormed across the room, grabbing his bag and turning on his heel at the door to fix John with a final glare. “Go fuck yourself, asshole.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving John reeling and alone. 

\---

John hadn’t anticipated asking Alex back to his room– in fact he isn’t even sure he _did_ invite Alex back to his room, the end of the night had been such a blur after all– but here he is, the locked door behind them, only a heartbeat of a pause before John lets instincts and memory override reason as he shoves Alex up against the solid wood, those hands immediately grasping for his shoulders, holding on tight and pulling him down eagerly to smash their lips together. It’s messy and hurried, frantic, like he’s worried they only have so long, a ticking time bomb that can’t last. Alex still tastes like smoke and alcohol, but the notes underneath are exactly the same as John remembers. A permanent flavor of coffee, a hint of salt, blinding sunshine. It tastes like home in a way that John has never been able to wrap his head around, and he wants to drink it in all night long. 

John growls and crowds him against the door more closely as Alex pulls back from the kiss, but it’s only to nip down the side of his neck, stopping occasionally to suck a darker mark against the scattered freckles on his skin. He runs hands down John’s sides and presses his tongue against him, rucks his shirt up a little to get at the bare skin underneath. Hums appreciatively as fingers trace along John’s abs. The vibrations against his neck make John shiver in anticipation. “Alex,” he moans, helpless under his hands as he tilts his head back, giving him as much access as possible. “Fuck.” 

He feels those gorgeous lips twist up in a smile. “Yeah, Jack? You like that?” He bites down, harder this time. Runs a hand along John’s side and digs his fingers in tight at his back, nails almost painful where they press into his skin. 

John just whimpers, too overwhelmed to speak. This is what he’s wanted. What he’s been dreaming of for years while his memories haunt him, refusing to let go of the phantom that is Alex, the feel of his body and the sting of his words like a salve or a poison depending on the context, able to soothe his worries or absolutely destroy him just as easily. 

John drinks him in, and he goes down smoother than the tequila from earlier in the night, but no less intense. He’s just as sharp and intoxicating and consuming, and it’s really no surprise that John can’t think properly. 

When they finally make it to the bed, he’s completely forgotten why this should be a bad idea in the first place. There’s no thought of Eliza, no thought of their own past. There’s only Alex, here, in this hotel bed with him. Perfect and real and finally back where he belongs. 

\---

When Alex walked into John’s apartment at nearly two in the morning, he reeked of booze and sweat, his hair a tangled mess. He stumbled a little as he closed the door behind him, but he seemed upbeat enough, grinning as he caught sight of John and quickly closed the space between them, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “Jack! Fuck, I missed you.” 

John returned the embrace, but his eyes narrowed. This wasn’t how Alex usually acted after a night out. If he came back to John’s place at all– definitely a hit or miss depending on who he was out with and whether he wanted to trek all the way back to his _own_ apartment– he usually slurred a quick greeting and wanted to settle into bed after downing a couple of aspirin. 

So John couldn’t help feeling a little suspicious as he kissed the top of Alex’s head where his face was buried against John’s shoulder. “Missed you too. You can always invite me out to these things with your work friends you know,” he added, just the faintest hint of irritation creeping into his tone, but Alex was too far out of it to notice. 

He just laughed, the sound a little bit off, a little too breathless and loud and out of place. “You wouldn’t like them, trust me. It’s okay though, I’m back now,” he told him, pressing kisses into John’s bare chest. “Back here with you, and we can spend all night together.”

“Alex, it’s two in the morning. I’m not staying up with you. I want to sleep.”

At that, Alex leaned back and stared up with wide eyes, and John caught sight of his face up close for the first time since he got in, his pupils blown wide and his skin flushed and sweaty. “Jack, come on,” he pleaded, running hands down his sides and setting them at his hips, running his thumbs over the soft material of his sweatpants. “Wanna be with you.”

John blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his head as a wave frustration hit him. “Did you take something?”

Alex laughed again, gripping at his hips more insistently. “Nothing bad. Pretty sure it was just molly or some shit.” He let a hand wander back to cup John’s ass. “Come on. You wanna go to bed right? Let’s go to bed.” The coy smile he flashed as he said it told John he had no intention of _sleeping_. 

John ran a hand over his face, irritation lacing his exhaustion now. It wasn’t a pleasant combination. “You’re _pretty sure_ it was molly? Christ, Alex. Where the fuck did you even get it?” 

The easy shrug he gave, clearly unbothered at the questioning, grated against John’s nerves. “Some guy in the bathroom. Pretty sure he was with our group.” 

John had to physically pry Alex’s hands off of him so he could slip into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it before he made his way back over to Alex who was now spread out on his couch, face pressed into the soft cushions. “Sit up and drink this,” he told him, not bothering to hide the annoyance from his voice now. Alex blinked up at him a few times but listened eventually, shifting on the couch until he was upright and gulping down half the glass. John took the glass from his hand when he held it out, clearly finished for the moment, and placed it down on the coffee table before sitting next to him. In less than a heartbeat, Alex was crawling into his lap, head tucked up against his chest again. When John brought a hand to rest at the back of his neck, his fingers brushed against stale sweat. He could practically feel the pounding of Alex’s heart, too loud and fast. But Alex just hummed contentedly at the contact, and John heaved a sigh, his irritation fading into concern.

“You do realize that could be laced with pretty much anything right? You shouldn’t take drugs from random strangers in a club bathroom, Alex, for fuck’s sake.” 

Alex snuggled in closer, and it was getting harder and harder to stay upset as he nuzzled his face against John’s bare skin. “Sorry,” he muttered against him, sounding more relaxed than John had maybe _ever_ heard him. “Just wanted to know what it was like.”

“You… wanted to know what getting high on molly was like?” he asked slowly, trying to follow Alex’s train of thought. 

He breathed a laugh again, breath warm against John’s chest. “What it’s like to just feel _happy_. Uncomplicated. Like I’m a part of something more than myself.” He traced fingers down John’s stomach, toying with the waistband of his pajama pants. “It’s so fucking _nice_ , Jack. Want to bottle this feeling and drink it in every day of my life. Wanna always feel this goddamn good.”

That euphoria of belonging somewhere– he was pretty sure it was the same feeling he got when Alex was in a good mood, warm and soft in his arms, smiling up at him like he was actually worth a damn. He didn’t ask Alex if he ever got that same feeling just from being with him. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know the answer. 

\---

Absolute bliss. It’s the only way John can describe the feel of it as his drunk mind stumbles through the awkward tangle of limbs on the mattress, the feel of Alex’s lips pressed to his skin, warm and wet, searing into him like a brand. He’s not sure when they got rid of their clothes, but now there’s nothing but skin and lips and tongue and teeth and the incredibly soft sheets of the hotel bed as they move against one another, uncomplicated and hauntingly familiar. 

Before he’s entirely aware of what’s happening, Alex is off the bed, rummaging through a bag, and John hears himself whine at the loss of his body though he doesn’t remember actually _making_ the noise. Hears Alex’s laugh from across the room as he tugs a zipper back into place and suddenly he’s on the bed again, his weight settling against the mattress with a little bit of a bounce, pressing a small bottle of lube into John’s hand. “I’m right here, Jack,” he says breathlessly, his words slurred and distant sounding. “Don’t need to worry.” 

He wonders vaguely where Alex even _got_ lube, why he has it in his bag, but his body works by muscle memory, slicking up his fingers, and any questions quickly slip from his mind when Alex lays back, spreads his legs and bites his lip, his face flushed and eager, a groan spilling as John presses slowly inside. “God, Jack. _Yes._ ” 

The rest of it he only processes in short bursts. His hand on Alex’s cock. Hearing the encouraging gasps and moans until he finally replaces his fingers with more. That tight, eager heat squeezing against him, perfect surrender as he gives himself over. Desperate rush of adrenaline and arousal building inside him. His own forehead pressed against Alex’s, both of them slick with sweat but too lost in the feel of each other to care. Alex’s voice as it all builds higher and higher, incoherent pleading and praises and curses melding together until they’re indistinguishable. A building rhythm, a thunderous crescendo that tastes of memories and longing and home. Rolling over onto his back, too tired and perfectly content to even clean up, allowing the sense of completeness to simply swallow him whole until he drifts off into a heavy sleep with Alex curled up against his side. For the first time in years, he feels whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments down below!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @ilovefoodandgirls
> 
> Chapter title from _Home_ by Catie Turner


	4. But I'd Rather Hear You Lie than Hear You Say Goodbye to Me

John wakes up and for a glorious moment, everything is complete and utter perfection. Alex sleeping soundly beside him again, his face peaceful, content. Happy. It’s easy enough for John to remember better times, when Alex would wake up next to him _most_ mornings. When they’d spend the weekends sleeping in just a little bit and cuddling until Alex got too restless and had to get up and do something productive before he felt like he was wasting the whole day.

John reaches his arm out, just draping it over Alex’s side, wanting to relive that domestic joy and all of the perfect closeness that comes with it, having someone else tucked against up his chest, but Alex has always been a light sleeper and even such a careful touch is enough to rouse him. Alex makes a soft grunting noise, then shifts on the mattress underneath John’s arm and finally rolls over onto his back, blinking his eyes open, his face scrunched in what must be either confusion or pain from his hangover. He glances up at John, realization clouding over his expression as he must start to remember the night before, and then squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Shit,” he breathes quietly, shattering any picturesque illusion John had of what this morning after might be like in a horrible instant. 

He swallows hard but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move his arm. Just gives Alex a minute to catalogue his thoughts in the stifling silence of the hotel room. Before saying anything else, Alex fumbles over by the nightstand, grabbing his phone and swearing when he realizes the battery died during the night. Hurries to plug it in and just stares while it powers back on. John isn’t close enough to read them or even see who they’re from, but Alex’s screen lights up with several message notifications. “Shit,” he says again with a little more force, staring at his phone and very purposely not looking over to meet John’s eyes. “How could I do this?” He runs a hand up over his face with an exhausted sigh, tossing his phone back onto the nightstand without responding to the texts.

John isn’t sure what to say to make this better, but he knows he can’t stay silent. Not now, when everything is on this delicate precipice, and one wrong move can send anything they still have tumbling down where it can never recover. “Alex…” He reaches his hand back out, resting it on Alex’s bare shoulder. 

He hears him sigh, feels his body deflate with it as he rolls onto his back again, shifting a little closer to John with the movement. “Shit, I shouldn’t have done this,” he says, pressing his palms against his closed eyes, but he sounds more resigned than angry now. “I’m such an idiot.”

John chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out if there’s anything he can say to salvage this. He rolls onto his side and slides his hand across Alex’s collarbone, and then up to the side of his face, gently turning him so that when Alex finally lowers his hands they’re staring into each other’s eyes. “You’re not an idiot.”

Alex lets out a sharp breath that’s halfway between hysterical and incredulous. “How can _you_ of all people be so calm about this?” 

* * *

John listened to the phone ring again and again and again, tapping his foot against the floor in a steady beat as he waited. Alex had told him earlier he needed to catch up on some stuff for work, John just got off the phone with his dad, asking if he was bringing anyone home for Thanksgiving. Insisted on an answer as soon as possible. John had rolled his eyes at the urgency, as if they wouldn’t have more than enough food for everyone attending, but he figured it couldn't’ hurt to give Alex a call. 

Finally, Alex picked up on the other end of the line. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Hey! Sorry, I know you’re busy with work. I won’t keep you. Just, my dad called and he was asking about Thanksgiving plans. I know you usually just do something in the city with friends, but I thought it’d be nice to have you there.” 

He thought he could hear something in the background, but then Alex was talking and any other sound was lost beneath it. “Uh, yeah, sure. That’s fine.” 

“Okay great! Are you able to take the day before off? We’ll need a day to fly down.”

“Probably? I don’t know. I have to ask.” There was more noise, and this time it sounded distinctly like another voice. “Look, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can I give you a call back later?”

John bit at the inside of his cheek, considering, and then gave into his desperate curiosity. “Is someone there with you?” 

The pause before Alex responded was just a beat too long. “Of course not. Why?” 

That answer should have been a relief. Alex was supposed to be home by himself after all, just finishing up some shit for work. For some reason, it just iced his veins over with paranoia. “I thought I heard someone.”

“Oh, it’s probably just the TV.”

John swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly dry. “I thought you were working?”

“I am. It’s just background noise.”

John didn’t say anything, but the answer sat like lead in his stomach. Alex was never one for distractions while he was working. He remembered nights at school when he would lock himself in a study room for hours on end until he finished whatever paper or assignment was taking up his focus. 

“Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a ton to get done. I’ll call you when I’m finished, okay?” 

“Yeah. Okay.” The words tasted like sand, gritty and uncomfortable between his teeth. 

“Talk to you later. Bye.” 

Before John could even say bye, the line cut off with a harsh beep. 

* * *

Alex has spent the last twenty minutes freaking out. 

John can’t help but wonder if he ever felt this awful after anything he did while _they_ were together. 

If he had to guess, the answer to that would probably be no. 

When he can’t stand the sound of it anymore, hearing him go on and on about how terrible it is that he was unfaithful to Eliza, John does the only thing he can think to shut him up. 

In the moment, he’s not thinking about how this is quite possibly the _worst_ thing he can do. 

He’s not thinking at all really. He just wants Alex to stop talking. So he crawls over to him, where he’s leaning up against the headboard, and presses their lips firmly together again. And despite all of his endless worrying about how he fucked up last night, Alex doesn’t push him away. 

There’s no excuse this time. They’re both sober. Alex clearly _knows_ this is wrong. He just vocalized that knowledge for twenty straight minutes. But still, when John reaches around and puts a hand at the back of his head, tugs him in closer, Alex is the one who parts his lips and shoves his tongue forward, groaning into John’s mouth like he’s starving for it. And that small, unrestrained noise gives John more hope than anything else that maybe this _isn’t_ a hopeless cause. 

If Alex was willing to go after him last night, to pursue him and push all night until John finally gave in, clearly that’s a sign that he wants this. The two of them, back together. Alex has never been good about asking for what he really needs, but clearly he needs this as much as John does. 

When they finally break apart, John’s managed to end up on top of Alex, thighs bracketing his hips, the two of them both out of breath and panting and flushed. 

Alex bites his lip and stares up at him with wide, dark eyes, molten and wanting. “We shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care.” John leans in and presses a kiss to that spot behind his ear that he _knows_ makes him shiver. 

“We _really_ shouldn’t,” Alex insists, but he sounds less sure now, his voice wavering, his breath hitching as John moves lower down his neck, grazes his teeth lightly against his skin. 

_“I don’t care.”_ He punctuates each word with another kiss, trailing down to his shoulder, to the bare skin of his chest. 

“Fuck,” Alex sighs as John moves lower, shifting aside the comforter from the hotel bed to get at more of his skin, warm and soft under his lips. Kissing and nipping down his stomach, gripping fingers in at his hips. “Jack, _fuck–_ I want…” 

“I know,” he says, his breath ghosting over Alex’s navel. He dips fingers under the waistband of his pajama pants, savoring the little whimper Alex can’t hold in as anticipation overtakes him. “Let me.” He glances up, and when Alex doesn’t object, he tugs his pants over his hips, all the way off, leaving him exposed again. But unlike last night, the thrum of excitement, the spark of desire between the two of them, isn’t fueled by an overabundance of alcohol. Not something they’ll be able to explain away with excuses. It’s real and undeniable, and that knowledge alone is enough to stoke the hope in John’s heart. He kisses the dip of Alex’s hipbone, the inside of his thighs. Runs his tongue all the way to the base of his dick until Alex is practically panting for it. And when he pauses, lips just grazing the head as he asks, _“Is this okay?”_ Alex doesn’t say no. 

* * *

John didn’t say anything for about a month. Even when Alex started staying over his place less frequently. Even when he picked up his phone calls less and less. Even when he kept claiming work was just keeping him too busy to do anything together. Even when he’d finally show up at John’s place, his clothes smelling of someone else and faint marks beneath his jawline or on his chest. He was so much worse at hiding it when he was drunk, and he got drunk more and more often now. 

No matter how obvious it got though, John didn’t say anything. Because if he said something, everything would be over– just like that– and he didn’t _want_ it to be over. He wanted Alex. And maybe he had pushed him into things too fast, and maybe he just needed time to adjust. Maybe things would get better if he could just be patient. John could wait. People grew and changed together all the time, and there was no reason to think Alex wouldn’t work out his shit and end up exactly where he belonged, safe in John’s arms with no one else to distract him or take him away. It wasn’t ideal of course, but John could wait. 

He could wait, but he still wanted to know. 

A morbid curiosity gnawed at him, fraying his nerves while Alex laid on his couch, asleep after a night out– supposedly with his coworkers– before he had even made it to John’s bed. That curiosity was already so inflated, he couldn’t blame himself when Alex’s phone buzzed with a couple of texts and his first instinct was to grab for it, to see who was messaging him this late at night. He had memorized Alex’s passcode a while ago now, so it wasn’t hard to unlock his phone. He stared at the preview of the unread message for a minute, tempted to click it. But if he did that Alex would know he had been snooping. He wasn’t ready for that confrontation. The first bit of the message didn’t give anything away. _Hey man hope you made it back okay. Didn’t see where you…_ It seemed to be one of Alex’s coworkers, the name sounded vaguely familiar. John felt a pathetic pang of relief. So Alex _was_ out with people from work then. 

John looked over at him now– completely out, softly snoring, the side of his face squished up against his couch cushions– and let out the breath he had been holding. Maybe he _was_ just paranoid. Maybe the whole thing was just a huge misunderstanding and John had been judging Alex based off of his own terrible assumptions for an entire month, letting his imagination run wild with all of these supposed affairs Alex could be engaging in every night. The guilt hit him like a wave of nausea with no way to relieve it, so he placed Alex’s phone carefully back down on the coffee table exactly where he left it and dropped into an armchair, running a hand up over his face and rubbing hard at his closed eyes. Maybe Alex really _was_ just swamped with work and trying to win over these assholes that he worked with, and John was just being a dick forming wild accusations in his own mind instead of supporting him. 

When Alex’s phone buzzed again, John hesitated, almost stopped himself from looking, but the curiosity couldn’t be tamped down even by his own sense of shame. Maybe seeing another innocent text would really cement things in his brain, convince him everything was perfectly fine. He was expecting it to be the same guy, so his brow furrowed at the name on the screen. A girl’s name, just the first name, and one John didn’t remember from Alex’s conversations and rants about work. Definitely not one of their mutual friends from college. His momentary guilt forgotten, John unlocked the phone again, staring at the unopened message. A renewed sense of dread washing over him. 

_You doing anything tonight?_

There was a good thirty seconds with nothing else, and sure that wasn’t the _most innocent_ text. John’s imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what this girl wanted. But it also wasn’t _damning_ by any means. That was, not until the next message replaced it. 

_Thought you might want to come over_

The message was punctuated with a suggestive emoji– winking, blowing a kiss– and John felt his stomach flip as the little face stared back at him, almost like it was mocking him for being so damn stupid and trusting. A wave of true nausea hit him now, and he dropped the phone back down before rushing to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, but all that came was dry heaves and he felt worse rather than better when he finally stood up again, the world uneven under his feet, like it was spinning incorrectly on its axis and John was the only one who could feel it. The noise must have woken Alex, because when John stepped back out into the living room, he was sitting up on the couch, his legs tucked under him and concern written across his face. Like he had any right at all to be concerned. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, all sympathy and care as if this wasn’t all _his fault_ in the first place. 

John swallowed hard and even though nothing had come up while he heaved it still tasted stale and wrong. He considered blowing up at Alex with the truth. Telling him _exactly_ why he was feeling sick to his stomach. But one look at his face, brows drawn tight over wide brown eyes, and he found the words wouldn’t come. “Just not feeling great.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

_You’ve done enough._ But then John thought back to that text message, that unknown girl propositioning _his_ Alex, and he knew there was only one thing he could ask that might actually improve his uncertain state. “Stay here tonight, alright? That’s all I need. Just you.”

Alex gave him a tight lipped smile, nodding and toying with his fingers in his lap. “I can do that.” 

* * *

John doesn’t finish Alex off with his mouth. Pulls off his cock just to hear him whimper in desperation at the loss of sensation. Just to hear him beg for it. Just because Alex is underneath him, at his mercy, and he _can_. 

“What do you want, Alex?” he asks, his voice low and rough as he sits back up on his heels. 

“ _Fu_ _ck_ , Jack. Please, I’m so close. I need _more_.” He squirms on the bed, hips shifting up in little, restless pulses, searching desperately for friction that isn’t there.

“Want to feel you on my cock again,” John tells him, barely more than a whisper. Like it’s a confession. He traces his fingers lightly against the side of Alex’s thigh just to hear the little hitch in his breath. “You want to come? Prove how much you want it.” 

Alex bites his lip, hips stuttering against nothing again, his own cock wet with John’s spit and heavy against his stomach. 

“Show me,” he repeats, more insistent this time, and leans back against the headboard, props himself up against the pillows. Shoves his own sweatpants off his hips and kicks them off the side of the bed. When Alex just gives him a helpless, questioning look, John smiles. He can’t deny that he’s enjoying this. Working Alex up while also denying him a little, keeping him wrong footed because this is never how their relationship _worked_ before. John was always the one to give, give, give. To constantly put in the effort. And look how well _that_ worked out. “Get up here and ride me, and if you do a good job I’ll make sure you come. But only once I’m buried deep in your ass.” When he fixes his eyes on Alex, he makes sure the spark of challenge comes through. “Come on, show me how much you want it.”

Alex groans at his words, low and unrestrained, and finally crawls on top of John, straddling his hips, dipping down low enough that his ass brushes against John’s cock, and that brief contact is enough to set the fire burning low in John’s stomach again, his nerves hyper-attuned to everything _Alex_. He looks gorgeous, his thighs tight with the position, every inch of bare skin glowing with the morning sun slipping in through the window. John smiles, runs a hand down his hip, around to the curve of his ass. 

“Do you need to stretch yourself?” 

Alex blushes a little at the question, but bites his lip and shakes his head. “Should be good from last night still. I just– _fuck_ ,” he groans as he grinds his ass back down against John’s cock again. “Where’s the lube?”

John fumbles for it over on the nightstand, pressing the bottle hurriedly into Alex’s waiting hand and marveling at the feel of it as his fingers glide over John’s shaft, slicking him with a few teasing strokes until there’s nothing left to do but sit back and watch as Alex lowers himself down, his eyes closed tight in pleasure and focus as he presses their bodies together once again. 

* * *

John wondered if Alex had even picked up on the subtle changes in his mood. If he noticed that John started drinking more– not just when they were out with friends– but when he was home alone and Alex was out god knows where with god knows who. He told himself the alcohol helped him forget about it all for a little while, but that was a lie. Drinking just enhanced his emotions, made the anger rage higher in his chest and the depression sink lower until all he wanted was to sob or hit something. Sometimes both. 

He was partway through a twelve pack when Alex called a little after midnight, the pulsing music of some club in the background, asking if he could come over. 

By the time he showed up at his door, John had finished another beer and was curled up on the couch watching a rerun of some show, more to appear like he was doing something than anything else because it’s not as if he could focus on whatever the fuck the actors were saying while he stewed in his own resentment. He had left the door unlocked, so he didn’t get up when he heard Alex knock. Didn’t even call out to him. Knew he’d eventually figure it out on his own. He insisted on dealing with everything alone after all, so why should John bother helping?

He heard the tentative turn of the doorknob, then Alex stumbling inside too loud and too full of leftover energy from the club. “Hey,” he called out in John’s general direction as he kicked his shoes off. “Sorry, didn’t realize the door was unlocked.” 

John didn’t respond to that. Just fixed his gaze at the TV screen and tried to choke down his own anger because just hearing Alex’s voice right now was too much. He hadn’t seen him last night. Wondered where he’d been instead. If he had been with that girl who had been texting him. Or someone else. _Fuck._ He felt his hand shaking and he clenched it into a fist to try and steady himself. 

He didn’t turn to look as Alex came into the living room and sat next to him on the couch, but he could feel the heat from his body. Could smell the sweat and alcohol and some other strange sickly sweet scent still clinging to him. Could feel the couch cushions shift under both of them as he tried to settle into a comfortable position. 

It was too much. Too much of a reminder of everything that he didn’t want to think about and he couldn’t swallow down the words when they were so ready to spill from lips, like a damn breaking after months of relentless buildup. “So, couldn’t find anyone better to fuck tonight, huh?” 

The silence that followed was deafening, but with so much alcohol flowing through his veins making him braver and fueling that part of him that was just craving this confrontation, John couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

After a full thirty seconds, Alex finally choked out an affronted, “Excuse me?” 

But John only laughed, harsh and humorless. Kept his eyes fixed on the TV. “You really think I’m that much of a moron? That I didn’t _know_?” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Jack. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me!” John yelled, his volume rising instantly as he slammed his fist on the armrest hard enough to see tiny ripples in the half full bottle on the coffee table. When he finally turned to face Alex, he looked almost scared. Alex _never_ looked scared, was far too practiced at masking all of the emotions he thought made him weak and shoving them down where he didn’t have to concern himself with them. But here he was, staring back at John with wide eyes, his shoulders stiff, leaning away. Like he was trying to escape without actually moving. 

John wanted to scream. To keep going until Alex felt at least a fraction of the pain that had been constricting his heart every time he thought about him lately, squeezing the air from his lungs until it was hard to breathe. But the fear in his eyes cracked through John’s rage and cooled that fire down enough that he could keep his lips firmly shut until Alex responded. They stayed just like that for a couple of minutes. The two of them frozen, John with his fist still pressing into the armrest, his knuckles white, and Alex with both his hands pressed into his lap, his whole body tense, like he was ready to snap. Like a deer caught in the headlights, and in a way he was. Finally called out on his bullshit with nowhere to run. 

“Fine.” His voice sounded small. Wounded. Not even an ounce of his usual bravado. “You’re right okay? Fucking happy now?”

“No.” John swallowed around the new dryness in his throat. All he could taste was the beer, and the tip of his tongue felt numb where it pressed up against the inside of his teeth. He wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he was expecting to feel when Alex finally admitted to it. Certainly not happy. Maybe relief. Validation. Instead of any of that, he just felt ice cold terror. The fear setting in that now that everything was out in the open, Alex would leave for good. He turned his gaze away, not willing to make eye contact when he spoke. “I’m not happy. I’m miserable because I fucking love you,” he shot back bitterly, too far out of it, too drunk and too upset, to even realize that was the first time he said those words out loud.

“Jack,” Alex said tentatively, his fingers gripping into his own thighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I told you I’m not good at this shit.”

“That’s bull,” John told him, his voice flat and lifeless now that the anger was gone. Without the anger, he just felt nothing. Felt like _he_ was nothing. “It’s not that you’re _bad_ at it. It’s that every time you start to get close to someone, to _anyone_ , you freak out and do a one-eighty. You pull away and sabotage everything because you’re scared of things getting _good_. Why can’t you just let yourself be happy, Alex? What the _fuck_ are you so afraid of? We could do it, you know. We could be happy _together_ if you’d just give us that chance.”

He turned back just a fraction, watching Alex out of the corner of his eye as he shrugged in defeat. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Because I fucked it up.” His voice sounded so pathetically resigned it was like a slap to the face. 

John shook his head slowly. Couldn’t let him give up on everything that easily. Even if he had to give the push himself. “You didn’t fuck it up.”

Alex blinked a few times, clearly confused as his brow furrowed. He sounded almost _irritated_ , raw and harsh when he responded. “The fuck are you talking about? Of course I did.”

“It’s not irreparable. People recover from this and worse all the damn time. If you still want this– if you still want _us_ – we can make it work.”

“Jack.” He shook his head slowly, biting down hard on his lip, his tone unsure, his eyes a little watery. 

“We can make it work, Alex. I know we can. I’m not giving up.” 

* * *

Alex takes a long time in the shower, like he’s trying to wash all of his repeated sins down the drain, and when he finally emerges from the attached bathroom he’s fully dressed. He flops back down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a quiet intensity that sets John on edge. He waits out the silence. Knows this moment is critical. If he says the wrong thing, Alex will pick up and run and never look back. He’s always been good at running. John just didn’t realize _why_ soon enough. Didn’t piece together that if Alex _hadn’t_ gotten so good at escaping, he never would have made it off the tiny island where he grew up stifled and restless. Never would have made it to college on a full scholarship, never would have graduated with honors and gotten a prestigious job offer right out of school, never would have worked his way higher and higher. Constantly running away from mediocrity, setting his sights on _more_ is what makes Alex– well _Alex_ , and John knows now that trying to slow him down is more than useless. It’s downright cruel in a way. But if he plays his cards right, maybe John can prove to him that he can keep up with it all. That Alex can run and run, and John will be there right by his side, a constant presence that won’t hold him down. He’s pretty sure he can do it. After all the time he’s had to gain perspective, to see the bigger picture and realize where he went wrong before. But first, he needs to get close again. Proving to Alex that they need one another will take more than just one night. 

Alex does speak eventually, after fifteen agonizing minutes of silence while John scrolls through his phone, not really looking at anything, but not wanting Alex to feel like he’s being scrutinized. John knows that he’s been thinking through all of it. Last night, this morning, how he said _I shouldn’t have done this_ and then went right on ahead and betrayed Eliza all over again. John can hear the weight of all that internal debate in his words when he eventually says, “Nobody needs to know about this, right?”

John meets his questioning glance easily, trying to appear calm enough for both of them, to ease Alex down enough from the height of his internal conflict so that he’ll be open to more in the coming weeks. “Sure,” he says, nodding. 

Alex visibly relaxes, like he was expecting John to run off and tell Eliza as soon as they left the hotel. 

If he was a better man, he probably would. 

But he’s not, and he can’t risk losing Alex again. 

John gives him a little more time to process that. Doesn’t want to spook him with too much conversation right away. But he watches the tension ease from Alex’s body as he thinks through the details, knowing that this secret is safe enough, that his indiscretions won’t have immediate consequences. When John is pretty sure he’s relaxed enough about the outcome, he moves from where he’s sitting up against the headboard. Drops his phone back onto the nightstand and comes to lie horizontally across the bed next to Alex, leaving a foot of space between the two of them. 

“So, you’re back in New York?”

Alex doesn’t look at him, but his brow furrows as he stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah. The campaign seemed promising, and I could use a win. Looks good on my resume. Plus, it’s closer to Eliza’s family. Figured it’d be more convenient than DC. You know, for family get-togethers and shit.”

“Ah, yeah.” John wants to kick himself for opening up the conversation to anything where Eliza could be mentioned. “Well, we should get together. Catch up. We could get coffee sometime. Or drinks,” he adds, hoping that’s subtle enough that Alex won’t feel like he’s pushing. Alex needs to feel like _he’s_ driving this after all. He’s never liked other people trying to control things. 

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” he says. John is pretty sure he’s purposely avoiding saying which of those he’s actually agreeing to, but the fact that he’s agreeing to _anything_ is enough. A promise that this thing between them isn’t over. That it’s not just a one time thing. John’s heart soars with those four words. 

He glances at the clock on the nightstand and sighs. “Check out is in fifteen minutes. I should probably finish packing up.”

“Ah,” Alex says, finally turning to meet John’s eyes. “Yeah. Shit I’ve got to get back to my room and get my things too.” He doesn’t stand up right away though. Just stares at John with those dark, molten eyes. Searching, like he’s trying to read his intent as quickly and easily as he tears through entire shelves of books. John hopes he isn’t as easy to read as he feels. 

Alex, on the other hand, has always been easy to read. His face is too expressive, his emotions too close to the surface even as he tries desperately to hide them. Which is why it’s all the more shocking when Alex _does_ take him by surprise, breaching the small gap between them to press their lips together one more time. The short, instinctive noise John hums against his lips makes Alex laugh, and as he laughs his lips part and he dives in with more confidence. Explores every inch of John’s mouth like he’s trying to memorize it. When he finally pulls back, he’s smiling. Soft, and warm and somehow more vulnerable than when he was shaking apart on top of John a couple of hours ago. 

“I have to go,” he says softly, something like regret in his eyes. “I’ll text you about those drinks though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took FOREVER to edit
> 
> Hope the length makes up for the wait! 
> 
> Leave comments to keep me motivated in finishing the final chapter fam <3
> 
> Come hang on tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough (new blog name!)
> 
> Chapter title from _If You're Gonna Lie_ by Fletcher


	5. When did all our Lessons Start to Look like Weapons Pointed at my Deepest Hurt?

John has been worried that once they made it back to New York, the momentary spell– whatever madness possessed them at the wedding– would break. That seeing Eliza would shake Alex out of whatever fleeting impulse had convinced him that going after John was okay in the first place. But it doesn’t even take a week before he gets the first message while he trudges through the end of a seemingly endless day at work. _Hey, you doing anything tonight?_

It takes John a minute to figure out why those words sound hauntingly familiar. He sends off his response before he even realizes– it’s almost word for word the same text he had seen someone else send _Alex_ back when they were together. Another useless reminder that they shouldn’t be doing this. But as he stares at Alex’s contact picture in his phone, unchanged over the years they’ve been apart since John couldn’t handle deleting his number when they broke up, he finds knowing that it’s wrong, that he’s the world biggest fucking hypocrite, is doing nothing to convince him _not_ to go through with this. Not with those wide, brown eyes staring up at him from his phone screen, laughing at some joke that John has long since forgotten. 

He has the fleeting thought that if they don’t do this now, if things stay limited to that one poorly thought out night– and the morning after of course– that maybe Alex can keep everything as it was with Eliza. He can go back to his peaceful, new relationship and pretend that this thing with John never happened. Or that it was merely a fluke. He can live happily with Eliza and the two of them can stay together and get married one day, and Alex won’t ever have to mention this brief screw up. He could cut things off now and save Alex from another failed relationship. 

But, he admits to himself, even though he knows it’s selfish he doesn’t want Alex to be happy if it’s not with _him_. 

And Alex would surely just find someone else to sleep around with. The more John thinks about it, the more he’s certain that this is the best realistic scenario. At least if Alex is cheating on Eliza with _him_ , then one day John will prove just how good they can be together, and he’ll get something more out of it than simple self sabotage. It’s better than Alex finding some random stranger at a club to take home. If he’s already at the point where he’s willing to cheat on Eliza, there’s no hope for their relationship. John knows that much from experience. 

Alex makes the hike all the way out to Brooklyn to meet up at a bar near John’s apartment, and John has a feeling he’s doing so to avoid getting caught by anyone who knows him and Eliza at establishments near their own apartment. That fact alone, the knowledge that there’s a necessary layer of secrecy to all of this, should set off alarm bells in John’s mind. Instead, his nerves just buzz with anticipation because he’s about to see Alex again, and _he’s_ the one who initiated it this time. Already, that’s a step up from how things went the first time around. Alex _wants_ him. 

John spies him seated up at the bar, already clutching a bottle. He drops down into the barstool next to him with a grin. “Hey. Hope you weren’t waiting long. Didn’t think you’d beat me here.”

When Alex glances up there’s a distracted look in his eyes, but he gives John a tight smile. “You’re fine. I just came straight from work, so I got here a little earlier than I thought. Long day.”

Ah. That would explain why he’s still in his suit then. 

John flags down the bartender and orders a drink of his own before opening up the conversation. After all, he needs to prove to Alex this is about more than just sex. He can be there for him. He can support Alex in all of his aspirations and be there to listen to him vent at the end of the day. “So, bad day at work?”

“Ugh,” Alex groans immediately in response, clearly just waiting for the opening. “The guy’s such an asshole.”

“Who?”

“The guy I’m trying to get elected to congress,” Alex tells him with a dismissive wave of his hand, slouching forward against the bar. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s going to win, but he’s just such a douche. Like today, he just kept shitting on his fucking _unpaid_ interns. Like, if you’re gonna be a dick to the people that do the most thankless work for you, at least fucking _pay them_. Not that this guy’s ever had to work that sort of shit job a day in his life, so it’s not like he gives a fuck.”

“Jesus. He sounds like a real piece of work.”

“They all are.” Alex breathes a resigned sigh. “That’s the nature of the job. Sometimes making them look good is so damn hard though when all I want to do is broadcast how fucking spineless and shitty they are to the entire world.” 

“You sticking around to work on his staff if he gets elected?” 

Alex chews at his lip, hesitant. “Haven’t decided yet. It’d be nice to stay in New York I guess. But I mean, it all depends what opportunities come up, you know? I have a good amount of connections down in DC now, and if someone offers me something better there I’m not gonna say no.”

“Yeah, of course,” John agrees readily even though that’s not what he wants. He _wants_ Alex to stick around for a little while so he has a better chance at rekindling this thing between them. He can find work in DC as well of course. His dad knows hundreds of people who could set him up with a job with just a few well placed phone calls. But if things aren’t progressing along fast enough with Alex, following him to DC will just look suspicious. Or desperate. “You must know a lot of people in New York politics by now too though. Maybe you could get something better out this way.”

Alex hums noncommittally as he takes a sip of his beer. “Yeah, maybe. Phillip– Eliza’s father– knows pretty much everyone up here. He’s the one who put me in touch with this campaign.” John does his best not to cringe, because of fucking course the conversation has come back around to Eliza. “I’m sure once I get this jackass elected it won’t be hard to leverage that win to get a position on someone else’s staff. It’s just all up in the air for now.” 

* * *

Alex had agreed to try, and John supposed that was all he could really ask for. 

It’s not like trying to force Alex into doing anything had ever worked out for him– or anyone else for that matter. 

So over the next few weeks, when he came back to John’s apartment a little later than he probably should, smelling of someone else’s perfume or cologne, John didn’t say anything. When he still spent far too many nights out at the club, insisting John wouldn’t want to come with him, John didn’t say anything. And when he still showed up completely wasted or high off of whatever his friends at the club had offered that night, John didn’t say anything. At least Alex was making an effort to spend more time with _him_. That was something. A start. He could work with a start. It meant there would be a happy ending eventually if he could just hang on through all of the bumps in the road. No one ever got anywhere without a little bit of sacrifice. 

The worst part was that even though John _knew_ , Alex still insisted on lying. John didn’t know if it was just habit at this point or if he felt awkward talking about it all explicitly, but if John asked where he had been all night, even with all of the obvious signs that he had been with someone else, Alex would just shrug. _Out with friends_ or _with the guys from work_. But John just gritted his teeth and kept his mouth firmly shut. Knew he could bear all of it if Alex could just come around eventually. 

It would all be worth it if they ended up together. 

It did get draining after a while though. 

* * *

Eliza’s still upstate with her family, so Alex ends up inviting John to his place the second time they meet up back in New York. It’s more convenient for Alex, with work not too far from his apartment, so John agrees without complaint. It’s not like it matters to him where he sees Alex so long as he’s _seeing Alex_. 

Well, at least that’s what he thought before he arrived. 

Because once he’s inside Alex’s place, he can’t ignore all the little details that so clearly highlight _Eliza’s_ presence in their apartment. She may be over a hundred miles away, but there’s no escaping all of the reminders that she and Alex share this space, and their lives have clearly become hopelessly entangled. The evidence is everywhere. Her jacket and shoes by the door. All of the decorations and pieces of art that are obviously hers because Alex has never cared much about making his living space feel like home. A couple of framed pictures of the two of them, along with a few of her and her family, staring back at him from the shelves in the living room like a guard standing watch. Little feminine touches all over the place that echo like bells, taking up too much space in John’s brain. He feels hot, uncomfortable, all of a sudden, and when he excuses himself to the restroom, the disconcerting panic is only amplified by the sight of her toothbrush next to Alex’s in its holder on the counter by the sink. 

He can’t breathe properly with all of these reminders surrounding him, and he has to wonder if _this_ is why it was so easy for all of the others. None of the people that Alex had slept with before– while he and John were together– did so with traces of John whispering their sins in their ear. 

He takes deep, careful breaths in through his nose and lets them out slow and controlled through his mouth. Tries to remind himself that nothing is different. He’s known about Eliza the whole time. This doesn’t change a damn thing. And after everything Alex put him through, doesn’t John deserve a happy ending more than anyone? 

He splashes cold water on his face, but he’s worried Alex will be able to tell how off he feels. That being here, surrounded by the constant thrumming reminder of _Eliza_ has him so completely shaken. He can see it in his own eyes as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. 

But he can’t stay in the bathroom all night, so he takes one last, steadying breath and emerges out into the living room. 

He needn’t have worried. Alex has been so consumed by work on the campaign that as soon as John is within earshot he starts ranting about every detail that’s been giving him trouble. And when John drops down next to him on the couch, Alex leans his head on his shoulder without pausing his diatribe. John can’t help the way his hand comes up to toy with Alex’s hair and smiles when he breathes a contented sigh at the touch– and then goes right back into insulting half the people on his candidate’s staff. 

It’s simple and familiar and if John just closes his eyes against all the ghostly images of Eliza floating about the space, he can pretend for a moment that he’s not stealing this snippet of domestic bliss from someone else. 

After a while, Alex slides down to rest his head in John’s lap, closing his eyes and letting out an exhausted sigh as he finally runs out of complaints about work. “Fuck, they’re all just so _stupid_.”

John huffs a quiet laugh, running fingers through the longer hair at the top of Alex’s head. “You need to find someone you can actually stand working for and stick with them for a while.”

“Yeah.” Alex blinks his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s the finding-someone-I-can-actually-stand-working-for part that poses a problem.”

“There must be _someone_ you wouldn’t mind. And with all the experience you have at this point, the name you’re making for yourself in the political sphere, I can’t imagine most people would turn you down if you inquired.”

The corner of Alex’s mouth twists down. “Phillip offered me a position working for his office.”

John’s hand freezes, his fingers resting just an inch or so above Alex’s ear. “You gonna take it?” 

He shrugs, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s a really good position. _Really_ good. I’d be working directly under his chief of staff. I just…” He trails off, squeezing his eyes shut like the thought physically hurts him. 

“Just what?” John prompts gently. 

“It feels like a handout,” he says with a waver of uncertainty. “I know I could do the job. Probably better than anyone else he could get. But I also know the only reason he’s offering is because I’m dating Eliza.”

The words sting, but John shakes them off. Tries to focus. Because Alex is already leaning towards saying no, and he can definitely sway him more firmly in that direction, and Alex agreeing to work for Phillip Schuyler would certainly throw a wrench in his plan. “I know you didn’t ask for my advice, but if I were you? I wouldn’t take it.” Alex bites down on his lip, staring up to meet John’s eyes. “You’ve gotten this far on your own merits, and you don’t want to muddy that reputation by accepting a position like this. It might come back to bite you down the road. You don’t want to give anyone a reason to say you didn’t earn everything you’ve got.”

Alex lets out a quiet breath, turning his face to the side and nuzzling more securely into John’s lap. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I was thinking.” John has a feeling there’s more to it than that. That Alex is concerned about the repercussions if he and Eliza break up at some point. Because Alex has never been good at long term commitment, so what feels like an inevitable end point is surely on his mind. But he really doesn’t want to go _there_ with Alex right now, so he doesn’t press the issue. “I can find something else.” He curls his legs up and presses his forehead against John’s stomach. “Thanks.”

When the quiet is approaching _too_ comfortable, Alex eventually shifts the peaceful camaraderie towards something else, an obvious distraction from the weight of their conversation, his fingers coming up to trace patterns high on John’s thigh, nuzzling his cheek against the front of John’s pants where he’s quickly stiffening at the gentle touches. It’s almost like Alex can’t stand the idea that this is all something _besides_ just sex. Like he feels the need to repay John’s kindness with his favorite form of currency– trading advice for orgasms. But John can’t deny how good it feels to have Alex touching him like this, sweet and attentive and even better than he remembers. So he relaxes into the feel of it and lets out an indulgent groan when Alex finally undoes his jeans, licking his lips and smiling up at him. Eyes warm and mouth even warmer as he sinks down.

* * *

When John asked, for what had to be at least the tenth time since Alex got his job, if he could go out with him and his coworkers, Alex finally relented. 

“Sure,” he told John over the phone as he wrapped up work for the day at six thirty, calling to let him know his plans. “I’ll send you the address for the club. We’re heading over now, so just text me when you get there, okay?”

“Sounds good,” John told him, still a little in shock as he processed that Alex had actually _agreed_ . He blinked in confusion a few times, trying to figure out what was so different about tonight that he was allowing this, but Alex _had_ been trying to do more to show that he wanted John around. Maybe he was finally just getting to a point where he was comfortable with this– including his boyfriend in _all_ areas of his life. Just like John knew he would, Alex seemed to be growing and adjusting to the idea of having someone else by his side. He knew everything would work out eventually. “I’ll leave in a few, alright?”

“Sure, I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Bye.” The line beeped and then went silent on the other end, and John shoved his phone back in his pocket, rummaging through his closet for something nicer to wear. 

Once he got past the bouncer, John looked around at the chaotic scene all around him, too many flashing lights and bodies packed tightly together to even begin to pick out where Alex might be. He pulled his phone out from his pocket, but Alex hadn’t responded yet, so he made his way to the bar to order a drink while he waited. No sense standing around like an idiot. 

As he waited for the bartender to fix his drink, he caught sight of Alex a little ways down the bar, partially obscured by all of the people in between them. John leaned forward just as someone else stepped back and was greeted by the sight of Alex chatting up a pretty blonde leaning too close into his space. He pursed his lips and waited for his drink with a little less patience. 

Glass in hand, he made his way over to where Alex sat perched on a barstool, granting the girl flirtatious smiles as he talked, toying with the straw in his drink. 

John placed his hand heavily on Alex’s shoulder as he came up behind him, watching with bitter satisfaction as he startled at the touch and the girl scrunched her face in confusion. “Hey,” he said as Alex turned to catch his eye, pointedly pressed a kiss to his temple and smirked in satisfaction as the blonde huffed and stalked away into the crowd. “I texted you.”

“Shit, sorry,” Alex told him, patting his pocket for his phone to make sure it was still there. He was completely shameless even now as he smiled up at John, clearly not concerned that he had been caught flirting. “Didn’t notice the message I guess. You waiting long?”

“Not really.” He glanced up and down the bar. “Where are your work friends?” 

Alex shrugged, unperturbed by their absence. Gestured with one hand to the space behind them. “They’re around here somewhere. I just wanted to sit while I waited for you.”

“Just wanted to sit, huh?” John asked with a glance in the direction that girl had gone off, his tone creeping towards accusatory. He directed a pointed look at the few top buttons of Alex’s shirt, popped open to expose bare skin, and the jeans he had changed into, dark denim clinging too tight to his thighs. 

“Yeah.” Alex shrugged, either not noticing or choosing to ignore John’s tone. “It was a long week. Wanted to just unwind for a few minutes. You gonna sit or…?” He motioned to the empty barstool next to him, and John grudgingly dropped into it. They sipped their drinks in silence for a couple of minutes until Alex spoke up again. He had never been able to stand those uncomfortable silences for long. “Are you going to be this much of a fucking buzzkill all night?”

John just stared, somehow still surprised by his bluntness at this point. 

Alex huffed a sigh, shaking his head to himself as he sipped his drink again, his lips a little pouty as they closed around the straw. 

Not long after, one of Alex’s coworkers shoved his way through the crowd and over towards the bar, leaning up against it and chattering excitedly about one of the other guys they were out with who was apparently making a fool of himself as he tried to flirt with an entire bachelorette party. Alex snorted a laugh.

“You should come watch. I’d bet money one of them throws a drink in his face.” 

Alex smirked and sucked down the rest of his drink in one go, shoving the empty glass further across the bar to get rid of it. “More likely he gets slapped. I know _I_ wouldn’t want to waste a drink on an asshole like that.”

As the other guy laughed in genuine amusement at the jab, John shifted in his seat, cleared his throat quietly to get Alex’s attention. He raised an eyebrow as he turned to glance back at John, but schooled his face into a relaxed smile, as if they hadn’t _just_ been arguing. “Erik, this is John,” he said, motioning to where his boyfriend was still clutching at his drink. “John, Erik. He’s one of the congressman’s legislative aides.”

Erik flashed him a smile that looked entirely too smarmy, and John had to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid outright frowning. “Ah, the boyfriend,” he said with an edge of something that could be amusement or pity or both. John hated the guy immediately. “Alex said you’d be coming out tonight. Nice to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise,” he said, not meaning it at all. Erik dressed and talked like all the worst, most entitled kids from his private prep school days, and he wasn’t too keen on reliving any of that. “If it were up to me I would’ve met y’all sooner, but…” John shrugged, letting the end of the sentence hang as he threw an accusatory glance towards Alex. 

Erik laughed, even as Alex looked distinctly uncomfortable with John calling him out. “I knew you were trying to keep him away from us, Hamilton! I kept saying to Joe, there’s no way his boyfriend is busy every single time we go out!”

“I never said that,” Alex muttered defensively, glaring. “You’re a lying piece of shit, Erik. Come on, let’s go watch Nate get slapped.” 

Erik snorted, but hurried to catch up with Alex as he hopped down from the barstool, leaving John to trail behind the two of them, still gripping tightly to his nearly full glass as they wove through the crowd. 

“Come on, Alex,” Erik griped, practically jogging to keep up. “Don’t be a little bitch just because your boyfriend’s here tonight.”

Alex didn’t respond, just kept his eyes determinedly ahead of him as he pushed through the press of bodies to get to the other side of the floor where their friend must have been. John doubled his pace so he was level with Erik at least, not wanting to be excluded from the conversation. Alex suddenly stopped as they got close to the opposite corner of the club, shifting from stony silence to delighted laughter as, a few yards away, a girl in a tight pink dress slapped who John could only assume was Nate hard across the face, barking at him to _fuck off_ before she and her group of friends moved back into the sea of bodies crowding the center of the dance floor. Nate turned to glare at Alex as he heard him, but Alex was already doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “Fuck, what an idiot,” he said through gasps of air, then turned to Erik. “Pay up.”

“Fine,” Erik sighed, admitting defeat. “Got something better than cash though.”

* * *

They fall into a comfortable pattern, Alex inviting John over, John inviting Alex over, the two of them growing more and more used to each other’s presence. And John notices all the little differences in Alex. How his eyes don’t wander as much as they used to when they’re out together. How the cigarettes seem to be his worst vice now, replacing an overabundance of alcohol and the occasional drugs. How he doesn’t spend time at the club _unwinding_ every Friday night. How he seems to be truly _planning_ for his future now rather than simply clawing at every opportunity that comes within reach. And John wonders, if he had just bided his time, waited until Alex was more stable and mature before asking him out, if he could have avoided the train wreck they went through. 

Any progress he’s making grinds to a sudden, frustratingly slow pace when Eliza arrives back in the city after a summer upstate. John had known things would be more difficult once she was around again, but he couldn’t anticipate quite how much of Alex’s time she would monopolize. Their weekend rendezvous down at the bar near John’s apartment or over by Alex’s place are suddenly replaced by dates and nights in that John only hears about when they’re being used as a sort of apology or excuse. It almost feels miraculous when he finally steals a night away from her one night midweek after work, the season already turning over into chillier nights that he has to bundle himself against as he meets Alex at their usual spot in Brooklyn. 

“Hey,” he says when he spots Alex, a full beer in front of him and a dish of pretzel bites that he’s dipping in mustard as John approaches. 

Alex swallows quickly, turning to face the barstool John drops into. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t have dinner yet,” he says by way of explanation, motioning towards the pretzels. 

“It’s fine. I haven’t eaten either actually. Did you want to grab food somewhere?” 

Alex hesitates, and John is pretty sure he knows why. This bar has proven safe enough. A little hole in the wall place that not many people frequent. But going somewhere else, where more people might see them, probably felt like too much of a risk. 

Still, he can’t help pressing, because he wants _more_. He _wants_ to bring Alex out and treat him to dinner and have him come back to his apartment after a night enjoying themselves and talking over food and drinks. “My treat,” he adds. “Really, Alex. I’m starving, it’s not a problem.”

He chews nervously at a hangnail on his thumb and doesn’t answer right away. “We could order takeout,” he suggests instead, and John can’t help the bitter rush of resentment that overtakes him at being denied this one concession. 

But he just smiles agreeably. “Yeah, sure.” When the bartender asks what he wants, John gets a beer as well– something he can finish off quick so they can head back to his place and order food. 

“So,” John starts, taking a sip. “How are things? Feel like I haven’t seen you in a little while.” He keeps his tone light, not wanting to sound as accusatory as he feels. It’s not as if Alex has promised him anything with this whole situation. 

“Fine,” he responds with a tired shrug. “Campaign’s polling well, so that’s promising. Only about a month til I can ditch this guy. Counting down the fucking days.”

“You find anything else yet?” John asks, their knees brushing together in a way that could easily be explained away as an accident, but the contact, the first real contact he’s had with Alex in weeks, lights a fire in his veins, sends a tingle up his spine, and he wishes he could pull him into his arms right here in the bar. It takes a lot of self control not to follow that impulse. 

“I have a couple of offers in DC,” he admits, sounding unusually hesitant. “But I’m looking at some positions in New York too. Waiting to hear back from a few people.”

John tries not to seem too disappointed when he says, “Well, that’s good that you’ll have something guaranteed at least.”

Alex hums in agreement, taking a sip of his beer. “How’s your job going?”

John shrugs. The nonprofit he works for has never been a particular passion project. It’s a job. And at least he feels like he’s doing something that maybe helps someone at the end of the day. “It’s fine I guess. No complaints.”

They finish their drinks and John tells the bartender to put both of them on his card. Alex protests– _we’re not in college anymore, Jack, I’ve got a job, I can pay for my own shit_ – but the bartender is already running it behind the counter, and he gives a grudging _thank you_ as they shrug their jackets back on. 

When they get to John’s apartment, Alex is down on his knees before they even have a chance to order food, and John has no complaints on this front either. After dinner, they fuck properly, on John’s bed, and it’s like those weeks apart never happened. Alex leaves after a quick shower, brushing off John’s attempts at convincing him to stay the night.

“I have to get home, Jack.”

 _Home to Eliza,_ his adds unhelpfully in his own mind, the words echoing hollowly long after Alex leaves. 

* * *

John stared, eyes narrowed, at the pill Alex held in his hand. They were standing in the bathroom, John feeling entirely too sober as Erik stood to the side, a little plastic bag with a few remaining pills in one hand, and a loose tablet in the other. 

“You sure you don’t wanna try one, Jack?” Alex asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up in half a grin. Smug, like he already knew the answer. Like this was just a fucking game and he was winning. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” If the state he had seen Alex in before was any indication, it didn’t particularly look like a fun time, no matter how often Alex seemed to seek it out. 

He shrugged easily, unconcerned. “Suit yourself.” Alex and Erik both popped their tablets at the same time, almost like some sort of weird bonding ritual, and John had to bite his tongue to stop himself from voicing his distaste with the whole thing. Wondered if Alex ever thought of the consequences shit like this could have on him down the road. 

It didn’t take too long for the drugs to kick in. Less than an hour later, John noticed Alex relaxing into the atmosphere of the club, the tension from earlier slipping away into contentment. He grabbed John by the hand, laughing as he dragged him out to the dance floor where he clung tight and pressed his body up against him– warm and soft and pliant in his arms– kissed at his neck and ran hands over his sides, his hips, his thighs. Traced fingers behind him and grabbed tightly at John’s ass through the denim, holding him impossibly close, and even though John knew this was all being fueled by whatever mind-altering substances were coursing through his body right now, it felt nice to be so _wanted_. To know that in this building full of people, Alex was clinging to _him_. He wanted to take this one moment, this version of Alex, and stretch it into forever. 

His coworkers were close by, but transient. They’d stick around for a few minutes to make small talk, to point out a girl they were trying to hit on, to point out one of their _other_ coworkers who was making a drunken fool of himself. But then they’d disappear into the sea of bodies again, a tide pulling them in and out, and it would be just him and Alex. When it was just the two of them, John could feel at peace for a moment, even if Alex’s eyes were unnaturally dark when he gazed up at him, pupils dilated and face flushed. 

“You should get some water,” John told him, lips close enough to his ear that he didn’t have to yell to be heard. Tried to keep the concern out of his voice lest he trigger Alex’s stubborn, argumentative side. 

“Don’t want water,” Alex said, his words just slightly slurred as he traced fingers along the warm skin of John’s waist, his hand pressed up underneath the loose hem of his shirt. “Want another drink.” 

John sighed. Knew Alex would feel like shit later if he didn’t take care of his body now, but he couldn’t _force_ him to hydrate. “Okay. I’ll go to the bar with you.”

“Can you just bring me something?” Alex asked instead, pressing a hot kiss to the side of his jaw, and staring up at him with wide eyes. “Don’t wanna leave the dance floor. The music feels so _good_ , like electricity. I feel _alive_ , Jack.” 

John bit his tongue and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Knew he wouldn’t feel quite so alive when the high wore off. “What do you want?” he asked, taking a step back and holding out his arm for Alex to steady himself without the bulk of John’s body to lean against. 

“Rum and coke.” 

“Okay.” He blinked a few times as Alex regained his footing. “You sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I’m _fine_ , Jack.”

“Right. I’ll be back in a few then.” He threw a glance behind him as he forced his way towards the bar, watching Alex sway to the music, eyes closed as he threw back his head. He looked good in the dim glow of the club, the flashing lights reflecting off of dark hair as it swayed with his movements, tight shirt clinging to his lean form, the top few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up in a look that would seem effortless if John didn’t know just how much effort Alex put into nearly everything. He turned around before Alex could catch him staring and made his way to the bar, ordered the requested rum and coke and another beer for himself. It took a few minutes to get the bartender’s attention, the club growing more crowded the later the night got, and then a few more minutes to actually get their drinks. John tapped his foot impatiently against the filthy floor under the counter as some guy a few spots down shot him an interested look. The bartender had already passed him his beer, but was still waiting on Alex’s drink, when the guy came closer. John belatedly recognized him as one of Alex’s coworkers– Bryan if he was remembering the name right. 

He leaned up against the bar, right in John’s space, and gave him a smile that was entirely too friendly for someone he had met only a couple of hours ago. “Hey, lose track of Alex already?”

John narrowed his eyes at his knowing tone and slight smirk. “No, just grabbing drinks,” he said, motioning towards the bartender. 

While he was turned, trying to see if the rum and coke was just about finished, he felt a hand come to rest on bicep. _What the fuck._ He flinched away, turning back to give the guy a pointed look, blood rushing to his face and pounding in his ears. “Hey, I don’t know if I gave you the wrong idea or something, but I’m not interested. Figured I wouldn’t need to say that, considering you _work with my boyfriend_ , but back off, alright?” 

Bryan huffed an annoyed sigh, but pulled his hand back with eyebrows raised. “Well it’s not like that stops _Alex_ ,” he muttered, clearly bitter that he had struck out so quickly.

John felt his fist clench at his side, and he turned to face him a little more sharply. “The fuck is _that_ supposed to mean, asshole?”

The guy took a step back, but then the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smug grin as he caught sight of something over John’s shoulder. “Why don’t you look and see for yourself?” 

The side of John’s mouth twisted in distaste, and he didn’t want to give this dick the satisfaction, but of course he couldn’t _not_ look. He pivoted so he could see where asshole-Bryan was staring, and felt his face flush hotter in embarrassment and anger. Through a gap in the crowd on the dance floor, Alex was visible, laughing as he ran his hands down his body while some guy gripped his hips from behind, grinding up against him. 

John couldn’t hear anything past the rushing in his ears, his vision tinged blood-red as he stormed over towards Alex, pushing past anyone in his way, his whole focus taken up by single-minded rage. Alex’s lips were moving, but John didn’t hear a word he said as he grabbed the guy behind him and shoved _hard_ , sending him stumbling backwards into a few other people. “Get your fucking hands off him!” he shouted, his heart beating a mile a minute as it pounded against his ribs. 

After regaining his balance, the other guy lunged at him, grabbing at John’s shirt and holding tight as he got up in his face. “What’s your problem, asshole?” The red seemed to creep in even further from the edges of his vision, leaving nothing but this guy’s infuriating fucking face in his field of view. “My _problem_ ,” he hissed, curling his fist tight and twisting his body slightly to the side. “Is that you had your pathetic fucking cock pressed up against my boyfriend’s ass.” He didn’t give the other guy a chance to react before he had his arm pulled back, and then with a sickening _whack_ his fist met flesh and bone, connecting with the side of the guy’s jaw. He stumbled back, grip falling from John’s shirt, but he was only disoriented for a brief moment. He took a step forward and swung, but John was sober enough to dodge the hit, and he countered with another of his own, his knuckles colliding with the guy’s nose with a resounding sharp, cracking noise. Before John could really comprehend what was happening, he felt himself being dragged back through the crowd, and it was only when he was being hauled outside onto the sidewalk that he realized that must have been security who pulled him off of the other guy. He glanced back at the building as the security guy headed back in, leaving John to sink down onto the curb with a nauseous feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with either the alcohol in his system or the damn fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this was originally supposed to be 5 chapters but the end was getting *long*
> 
> Chapter title from _Happiness_ by T Swift 
> 
> Leave comments down below!
> 
> Come hang out on tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough


	6. You Hold Me Without Touch You Keep Me Without Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on making it to the final chapter
> 
> **please note the updated tags and take care of yourselves if you're easily triggered by dark themes**
> 
> As an end of fic gift- here's the playlist I made for this fic! The songs are mostly references to John's mental state during both the flashbacks and "present day" timeline. There are a few that reflect Alex's mind as well though! Enjoy! 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uHMUdwb95J0pL9ay7XtcK?si=lfTP63ijSf-cqArpQLfMbA

Things continue on. Alex reaches out to him every so often, they arrange a spot to meet up, and then they head back to John’s place. It’s a simple pattern, though not as frequent as John would like with Eliza around once again. But Alex seems to be confiding in him more and more, just like he used to, and even when they’re not meeting up, they’re texting again, talking, and that’s _better_ than just sex. Proof that this is more– so much more– than just some meaningless affair. Proof that Alex can love him again. 

Since the wedding, summer has given way to autumn, autumn to winter, the city delivering bursts of wind that whip through the buildings and sting John’s face as he hurries from the subway to his office. The days get too dark, too early, but none of it spoils John’s mood like it might have in years past. For the first time in a long while he feels _hopeful_ again. Alex had been his first love, his _only_ love. No one else has come close since he left. No one has been able to quite understand all of the shit he had been through leading up to this point, all of the family conflict and internal struggle. No one else seemed to reflect his own soul back to him so easily in a way that made him no longer hate what he saw. 

He had gone on dates since their breakup of course. Plenty. But none of the others had that same spark, that likemindedness and sharp wit and complex history that drew him to Alex like a moth to a flame. And that just further cements what John already knew– he and Alex are soulmates. It’s Alex or no one, and this is his chance to finally bring the universe back into its proper orbit. 

Things are going well enough that when his dad reaches out about a Christmas fundraising gala for some charity that he’s involved with, tells him he’s allowed a plus one, John’s mind immediately goes to Alex. He’s distracted at work while he mulls the idea over, almost misses his midday meeting, and finally shoots Alex a text before he can second guess himself again. _Hey. My dad wants me to go to some gala. Want free food and an open bar? All I ask in exchange is that you keep me from jumping out a window due to excessive boredom._

He stares at the screen for a minute, feeling fluttering anxiety and hope war behind his ribs, unsure how the invitation will be taken. He has to force himself to place his phone face down on his desk and get back to work.

Alex finally responds about an hour later. _What day/time?_

John responds with the date– he’s not entirely sure of the time yet– and receives a quicker reply this time. _Sorry, I already have a thing with Eliza that night. Wish I could._

Ah. Of course. John considers responding, but then huffs in bitter frustration and drops his phone back down onto his desk. He’s not sure what he would say anyway. Drop your plans with your girlfriend and come with me instead? Yeah, not likely. 

When he goes on his lunch break a little while later, he gives his dad a call back and lets him know he’ll be going alone. 

* * *

John didn’t see Alex that night after he got kicked out of the club. 

He called and called but it went to voicemail every time. He didn’t know what to say that he wouldn’t regret later, so he didn’t leave a message. Just waited and waited and eventually passed out alone in his bed. 

It wasn’t until the next morning, nursing a pounding headache that had more to do with the drinks he had _after_ getting back to his apartment– alone and stressed and so damn _angry_ – than the few drinks he had purchased at the club, that Alex finally showed up at his door looking exhausted but determined. 

He was expecting an apology. What he wasn’t expecting was, “Jack, this isn’t working.”

John couldn’t comprehend the words. Or rather, he didn’t _want_ to comprehend them, so he shook his head feigning confusion. Alex was standing by the closed door, his jacket still on, like he was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. John dug his nails sharply into the palm of his fist, still aching from the blow to that asshole’s nose the night before. It was just so _typical_ of Alex. To stand there, one foot out the door, and, “Goddamnit! You _always_ run away, don’t you?”

There’s an obvious tension in the set of Alex’s jaw, but he doesn’t take the bait. In a clearer state of mind, John might have noticed the way his voice shook just the tiniest bit. “Jack, you’re not listening."

Before he could get anything else in, John took a step closer, glaring. “I’ve given you so much, Alex. _Fuck!_ What more do you want from me? Why do you insist on running away from something that’s actually _good_?” 

“Because this _isn’t_!” The words echoed in the space between them, and there were tears pricking at the corners of Alex’s eyes, though he was trying his hardest to blink them back. John felt himself pale. “This _isn’t_ good, Jack,” he insisted again, his tone growing more desperate, a plea for John to understand. To accept the surrender. “It hasn’t been for a while. Maybe it never was.” 

Now John really _couldn’t_ comprehend the words. How could Alex say that their relationship _never_ worked? What about all those comfortable dates at the beginning, when they were still in college together? The laughter and adoring glances over dinners? Driving down the east coast and meeting John’s family? Making John feel like he was more than just a disappointment, insisting that it was his _family_ that was wrong? Bolstering his confidence and proving that he was worth something? Tender nights shared together, holding each other and making love and whispering about their dreams and ambitions? There’s no way Alex just _forgot_ about all of that. There’s no way that wasn’t _good_. 

He didn’t know how to get all of that across with words, didn’t know what to say to convince Alex that they had so much potential, that it wasn’t like that sort of potential just _went away_ . So instead of saying anything he crossed the room and grabbed Alex roughly by the arm, dragged him in for a frantically desperate kiss. Tried to impart all of his emotions, everything he was feeling, all of the reasons Alex should _stay_ into the space where their lips met. 

Alex breathed a surprised note into the kiss, then tried to shake John off of him, but John had a steady hold on his arm and dug his fingers in tighter, keeping him still. He wouldn’t let him run again. _Not now._ Not when everything was so close. 

When Alex tried to shove him off again, John backed the two of them up against the nearest wall, pinning Alex there so he’d stop trying to fucking _leave_ and just think things through first. He brought his other hand up to his face, gripping his jaw as he tried to deepen the kiss, but Alex wouldn’t open for him. He bit at his lower lip, just a little bit hard, the way that normally had Alex melting like putty in his hands. But if anything he just seemed to tense up, stiff and resistant under John’s touch. John pulled back, finally truly concerned. 

When he peered down into Alex’s face, he looked petrified. Frozen still against the wall. John stepped back, and once he offered up the space, Alex scrambled, putting a considerable gap between the two of them. 

John reached out, taking a tentative step forward, but Alex flinched and backed away again. “Don’t,” he said, sharp and unwavering. Like John had crossed some sort of line. Which was honestly absurd considering how many times they had kissed just like that. 

“Alex, please,” he said softly, trying to change tack. “Just talk to me.” He wanted to reach out again, to put a comforting hand on his arm and reassure him that they would get through this, but the wary look Alex was giving him froze him like ice. “If something’s not working, let’s _fix it_. Come on, I know we can.” 

“No we fucking _can’t_.” He gave John a hard look and ran a hand back through his hair in frustration. “Do you remember what you asked of me? Back at the very start?” When John just stared, Alex shook his head in aggravation and continued, his words sharp and biting. “You asked me to give it a shot. Well I fucking did! But every time I give you an inch you try to take a fucking mile. I _told you_ – fuck!” He slammed his palm against the wall behind him in anger. “I fucking told you that I’m not good at this shit! And you’re so content living in your own little fantasy world where you pretend you’re not miserable that you don’t see how fucking draining it is. _This?_ Everything you want? This happy little domestic life? That’s not _me_ , Jack. And no matter what you do, you can’t force it out of me. I’m not made for this shit, and I need you to fucking _see_ that.”

“That’s not true, Alex,” John told him, his heart too tight in his chest as he longed to scoop Alex up in his arms. To hold him until he realized just how goddamn _loved_ he was. Until he realized John would do _anything_ for him. “Come on, you know that’s not true. You deserve happiness too. You deserve someone who loves you.”

Alex finally averted his eyes at that, his glare softening into something more pained. “No I fucking don’t. Jesus christ, Jack. What do I have to do to prove that to you? How many signs do I have to send? What will it take for you to just accept that I’m not fucking worth it?” 

John’s brain seemed to freeze as he felt a chill run through him. He narrowed his eyes, fists clenching at his sides again. “What do you mean _signs_?” He thought back to the previous night, how fucking obvious Alex was being in his flirtations with everyone else. But there was no way that was _on purpose_. There’s no way he knew John would find out… “Alex, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I’ve been ready to end things for a while, but you don’t fucking listen! What the fuck was I supposed to do? You won’t fucking _let me_ break up with you, so I keep trying to force it. To prove to you that I’m not fucking worth it. I thought doing something supposedly unforgivable would be enough, but you’re so fucking desperate for someone to love you that allow it again and again and again–”

His words cut off abruptly as John slammed his fist into the wall, already bruised knuckles throbbing painfully the moment they collided. “Would you just fucking _stop it_?” he yelled, and his voice sounded as raw as he felt. Angry and hurt and pathetically vulnerable.

Alex blinked in shock at the outburst, but then his eyes narrowed again and he squared his shoulders. “What? Stop _what_? Telling you the fucking _truth_? Just because you want all this doesn’t mean that _I do_ , and it doesn’t mean that I’m under any obligation to stay. You don’t fucking _own me_ , John. I don’t exist just for you to find some fucked up feeling of fulfillment. You asked me to _try_ and I fucking _did_! I didn’t owe you that, but I did it anyway. Because, I don’t know, you were making me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself, but turns out I was fucking right all along,” he threw out with a harsh laugh. “I’m shit at this. I’m not built for all this bullshit– dating and commitment and living my life for somebody else. This– _us_ – it’s not _good_ for me. And I’m not good for you either. You’re just too afraid of letting go to see that.” As he finished his voice fell flat and bitter, and he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. 

John could feel his face heating up with built up rage and frustration and for some fucked up reason _guilt_ as Alex talked, but now that he was done John felt almost detached from all of those emotions. Like if he didn’t acknowledge them they wouldn’t be _true_. His head throbbed and his hand was killing him, and all he wanted was to lie down and forget any of this ever happened. Maybe if he went to sleep, when he woke up he’d realize this had all been a bad dream. He squeezed his eyes shut with desperate hope and dug the nails of his hand into his palm, but the sharp bite of pain didn’t force him awake. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, wary. “I told you, I’m done. I don’t want anything.”

John shook his head because, “That’s not true. Of course you want something, Alex. Why else would you be sneaking off with other people all the time? What are they giving you that I’m not?” He could hear his own voice rising frantically, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Just tell me– whatever you need Alex. Whatever you want from me. All you need to do is _ask_.” 

Alex backed away another step, glancing towards the door. “It’s not that simple alright?”

John barked a short, humorless laugh, clenching his fists at his side again. “It’s not simple because you won’t let it be simple.”

“So-the-fuck-what if I won’t? That’s just more _proof_ that we don’t work together!” Alex growled in frustration, rubbing his hand over his face. “You want simple, and I can’t fucking give it to you!”

“I don’t want _simple_ , Alex!” John bite the inside of his cheek hard enough for it to bleed, feeling his body start to shake in his anger. “I want _you_!”

Alex glared, letting a sharp breath out through his nose. “No you don’t.” John opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say a word Alex cut him off. “You _don’t_. You want the version of me that you’ve constructed in your own imagination. The version of me that settles down and loves you as much as you love me, but I’m not fucking capable of that. That version of me doesn’t _exist_ , and no matter how much you try and wait it out, that’s not going to change.”

“I don’t–”

“Don’t want me to change?” Alex shot back at him before he could say it. He laughed, loud and short and almost hysterical. “Of course you fucking do! Come on, John. Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to _yourself_. You _want_ me to change for you, but that’s not _my_ fucking problem, is it? It’s yours. What’s it going to take for you to finally get it? That I’m not who you want me to be?” He huffed an aggravated sigh, but then his eyes narrowed and he turned sharply to face John again, a cruel twist to his lips. “Do I need to tell you about them? About all the times I was out with someone else?”

“Alex–” he started, feeling his face going pale at the mention of it. He didn't want to– _couldn’t_ – hear this. But Alex barreled on ahead like he always did, regardless of John’s feelings– or rather _because_ he knew how much it would hurt him. 

“The first time was some random guy at the club, summer after graduation, right after I started at my job. Never even asked his name, but he gave one hell of a blow job.” John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tune out Alex’s voice, but it was no use. “Next time was with a girl from my macroeconomics class. I still had her number, and I knew she liked things rough, so I figured why not see if she was still in the city? She let me tie her up and everything.”

“Alex, for god’s sake would you just–”

But Alex was on a roll now, single-minded focus as he pressed on. “After that it’s hard to keep track of the _order_ , but I remember the details well enough. At least from the nights I didn’t black out. My personal favorite was the guy who shoved me up against the wall in the alley behind the club–”

John didn’t even register the action, but he saw the glass– the one that had been resting on the counter next to him just seconds ago– shatter against the wall, shards of glass flying in every direction as Alex just stared in tense shock. It hadn’t hit him, wasn’t even close really, but the message was clear enough and he snapped his mouth closed, chest heaving.

“Get out!” John could feel his whole body shaking, but he wasn’t sure if it was with rage or disappointment or sadness or shock or pure adrenaline. “Get out of my goddamn apartment!” 

Alex swallowed heavily but lifted his chin in defiance as he finally moved, taking half a step closer. “I fucking told you. Told you this doesn’t work. As soon as you’re forced to face reality, the fantasy all comes crumbling down, doesn’t it?”

“I said, get the fuck out!” John shouted, his voice echoing in the one bedroom apartment. Alex just smirked, cold and angry and frustratingly smug, and turned for the door, zipping up his jacket as he slammed it behind him. 

It was only after he could no longer hear the retreating footsteps that John collapsed to the floor with a sob. 

* * *

When John arrives at the gala, his dad is already surrounded by a gaggle of rich, older men and women. Donors to whatever cause they’re apparently supporting tonight. He sidesteps them, heading for the bar instead to avoid being interrogated about every aspect of his personal life. He doesn’t need his dad’s silent judgement while they ask about his career and relationships. There’s already a pretty long line for drinks, but John doesn’t mind. He has all the time in the world to kill, no one to enjoy the night with. He digs his phone out of his suit pocket to distract himself. 

A new text from Alex. 

_Hope the thing with your dad goes well. Don’t jump out a window._

He snorts a quiet laugh and rolls his eyes, biting at his lip to stop the smile that’s starting to spread. Sends a quick response and takes another step as the line creeps forward. He eyes the suit of the guy in front of him, both ostentatiously bright _and_ ill fitting, and wishes that Alex was here to poke fun at all of these rich, self-important assholes with him. He scans the crowd as he waits– mostly old and white and dressed in the finest suits and gowns that money can buy. He seriously contemplates the whole jumping-out-a-window-plan again. At least it’s a _charity_ thing and not a _political_ thing, so there’s a better mix of views among the guests and the political talk is kept to more discreet circles rather than overtly woven into the fabric of the event. When he finally gets to the bar, he orders a sidecar and shoves a generous tip into the jar on the counter. Hopes the bartender will make it strong.

As John walks back towards the center of the room, a familiar voice catches his ear, and he turns towards it so quickly that he nearly spills his drink. 

_Alex._

Just a few tables away, he’s laughing at a joke someone must have just told as he leans with one arm against the back of a chair, the other wrapped around the shoulder of– fuck. 

_Eliza._

He feels caught, trapped, and his first instinct is to turn and run, but no, that’ll just draw more attention to himself. And, well, it’s not like he’s not supposed to be here. But _fuck_. He can’t do this. Maybe he can pretend to be sick. Make his excuses to his dad and duck out before Alex notices–

“Oh, is that John?” _Shit._ Eliza waves him over, all warmth and smiles, and John can already feel his face heating up. _He can’t do this._ “John! Over here!” 

He swallows down all the instincts screaming at him to retreat– there’s no helping it now– and forces his legs towards their table. Plasters a grin on his face that he hopes looks believable and allows Eliza to pull him into a brief hug. When she pulls back to smile at him again, emphasizing how _it’s been too long_ and she _hasn’t seen him in ages_ , he can’t help the dark and bitter rush of spite that seizes his heart. He masks it well enough, and Alex stands off to the side, catching his eye frantically over Eliza’s shoulder. As if John had any intention of implicating himself _now_. 

“My mom and dad are around here somewhere,” Eliza continues, heedless of the tension that’s springing up around her. “You've met them before, right John?” 

“Ah, I think so. Your dad at least. Probably at something like this.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “Angelica and Peggy are here already too, I think. Alex, have you seen them yet?” She reaches a hand out to grab his arm as she turns, and even that small intimacy is enough to make John’s blood burn with jealousy. 

Alex shakes his head, tearing his wide-eyed gaze away from John. “No, not yet. Maybe they’re at the bar? Or wherever your parents got off to?”

“Maybe,” she says, unsure, as she leans up onto her tiptoes to try and get a better view of the room, even though the action doesn’t raise her much higher than the heels she’s wearing. “I’m going to go look for them, okay? Text me if they end up back at the table.” 

She throws an uncertain glance between Alex and John before she pecks a chaste kiss on his cheek and heads into the crowd, as if she’s worried about the awkwardness between two exes. It’s almost laughable considering how much worse the situation is. Considering what she _should_ be worried about. 

John takes a step forward once she’s safely out of earshot– only to be able to talk more discreetly– but Alex immediately backs away from the proximity, runs a hand back through his hair nervously. “Well, shit.” 

John starts to reach a hand towards him, to comfort, then realizes what he’s doing and drops it immediately back down. “Alex, it’s fine.”

“Did you know I was going to be here tonight?”

His eyes are narrowed and suspicious, his voice sharp, hushed, and John takes a step back now, affronted by the accusation. “What? Of course not.”

Alex grips the back of his chair hard and stares down at the table, his posture tense. He can see the harsh lines of paranoia in the way he holds himself, and it strikes John that Alex was never so paranoid when he was cheating on _him_. 

His blood rushes cold as ice at the implications behind this simple fact. He’s worried his veins will freeze completely, forcing his heart to a deathly stillness right here in the middle of the gala. 

But– perhaps unfortunately– he is still drawing breaths into his lungs, and he has no way to escape the ugly situation they’re stuck in together. 

“Did _you_ know?” he throws back simply for the opportunity to verbally strike Alex as well. Because he’s not the only one who can throw baseless accusations around. “After all, I called and asked you about tonight, and you didn’t mention that–”

“That what?” he hisses, sharp and angry. “I didn’t think it was important _where_ I was going, alright? And I didn’t think you’d be too keen on hearing the details when they involved Eliza and her family.”

“Ah, right,” John said with a dry twist of his lips. “Because it’s for _my_ benefit that you don’t talk about her often, not because you’re ashamed of your own–”

He stops talking abruptly as Alex grabs his wrist, _hard_ , and tugs him out into the hall. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he asks incredulously, just above a whisper, panic and frustration lining his face. “What if she had heard you? Or anyone else for that matter?”

“Sorry I’m not exactly thinking clearly, I wasn’t expecting _this_ ,” John tells him with a spark of indignation, motioning back towards the ballroom, “tonight. Can you really blame me for being off my game when you show up here with her out of the blue, Alex?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “I can.” He runs a hand back through his hair again, anxious energy fueling the habit. “Get yourself together for fuck’s sake. All you need to do is pretend for _one night_ that none of this is happening. Can you _please_ do that for me?”

The question sounds like more of an order, and John bites the inside of his cheek in frustration but nods. “Yeah, fine.”

Alex’s shoulders relax the tiniest increment with his agreement. “Look, I _am_ sorry, okay? I didn’t realize…”

John doesn’t need the explanation. Why _would he_ have realized? What were the chances they would both find themselves down in DC for the same fundraising gala? “It’s not your fault,” he says, already feeling the cold detachment setting in now that his anger doesn’t feel justifiable. When Alex just stares at him, chewing his lip and watching as if he’s trying to get a read on John’s thoughts, John builds his own walls up more firmly. “Let’s just go in there and try to get through this night, alright?”

* * *

The first week, John just felt numb. An all-consuming void, the pull of it sapping his energy and interest in anything outside of his own spiraling thoughts. He called in sick to work and ordered just enough takeout to survive and drank enough that he could fall into an uneasy sleep for a few hours each night. 

The week after that, he could feel resentment creeping back in. Bitter anger and frustration with a sole target. It wasn’t a productive emotion, but at least he was feeling _something_. He thought about trying to channel that burst of energy into calling Alex or going over to his apartment, ringing his phone or knocking against his door until he allowed John the chance to tell him all the things he should have said. All the ways he hurt him. But when he pulled up Alex’s contact on his phone, that anger immediately drained back to nothing– the picture of Alex staring back at him too much for him to handle. He felt pathetically weak, so he went out to a bar looking for a fight instead. Found some douchebag outside arguing with a girl, getting all up in her face as she pulled back, and put himself in between them. Got a few good punches in before the security from inside caught wind of the fight and broke them up. The girl thanked him, but he didn’t want her gratitude. He didn’t do it to help. He only did it because it felt good to satisfy that visceral urge to hit someone. He didn’t even realize he was sporting the beginnings of a black eye until the next morning when he looked in the mirror. 

The next two weeks were a slow, uphill battle towards at least pretending at normalcy. 

John found that after a month, no one really had sympathy for an ugly breakup anymore, so he did his best not to bring it up. Accepted the invitations out from friends that he couldn’t reasonably make excuses against. But even then, squeezed into a booth with Lafayette, Adrienne, and Hercules at their favorite bar, he felt like he was going through the motions, playing a part, a character that he no longer connected with. He didn’t ask any of them about Alex, even though he knew they must all still be seeing him from time to time as well. After all, John hadn’t told them why things ended, and he knew Alex wouldn’t offer that information up willingly, so they had no reason to shun him over what likely seemed like a mutual falling out. He remembered the way Hercules had prodded him all those months ago– _Doesn’t that bother you?_ – and wondered whether he had any inkling of the real reason. But if he did, he didn’t say anything. None of them did, content to dance around the subject of him and Alex to avoid setting off unwelcome memories. Or perhaps simply to avoid a conversation that none of them really wanted to have. 

Alex’s move to DC was abrupt. 

John wasn’t meant to hear the conversation, but Lafayette had a tendency to speak too loudly when they all went out drinking. They were at a club not far from his office, and John didn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop, but it wasn’t his fault that his friends were facing the other direction and didn’t notice him arrive. Didn’t know to hush their voices as he came up behind them. He waited a moment to say anything, to be sure he had heard correctly. 

“Alex left New York…?”

Lafayette and Angelica both jumped at his voice, wearing matching expressions of guilt as they turned to face him.

“Ah, yes. Just a few days ago.” Lafayette rubbed his upper arm nervously, like he was afraid he had done something wrong.

Angelica gave him a sympathetic smile, and that was even worse. “We all had a sort of… send off the other night. We didn’t want to say anything because, well.” She glanced at Lafayette, then back at John with an uneasy shrug. “We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” John told both of them, his voice flat and lifeless even as his breathing grew shallow and sharp pains ran through his chest, but this was a chance to shape the narrative. To hide the real reason for their split. “I knew he was moving for a job. That’s why we… well it’s part of why things didn’t work out. Just didn’t know he had actually left the city already. That’s all.” 

Lafayette breathed a sigh that sounded like relief, but Angelica fixed him with those piercing, dark eyes, one eyebrow raised. John had the unsettling feeling that she could see right through his lie, but she didn’t comment on it. Just directed them towards the bar for a round of drinks. 

The rest of the night at the club, the tingling numbness enveloped him once more, and he couldn’t help but picture Alex amidst the flashing lights and thudding base, like a specter that just wouldn’t leave him alone. 

When he heard a guy on the dance floor making some horrible comments to a friend, slurs and all, John grabbed at the opportunity to lunge at him, grab him by the collar and land the first punch right to the side of his face. Falling into a fist fight was easier than falling asleep those days. 

When he got home and collapsed onto his bed, the realization finally hit– the opportunity to fix things was gone, snatched away while he wasn’t even looking. One more thing Alex had stolen from him. 

* * *

John’s dad pulls him aside partway through the night, curtly cutting into a conversation he had been _trying_ to hold with some finance guy. He seems to be younger than _most_ of the donors at this thing, and if John can’t spend the night glued to Alex’s side, he can at least spend his time chatting up someone mildly interesting who’s easy enough on the eyes. He doesn’t have any delusions that things will go anywhere, but some petty part of him hopes Alex will catch him with someone else, maybe feel a tiny fraction of the spark of jealousy that consumes John every time he glances over and sees him with Eliza. 

The stare his dad fixes him with now that they’re tucked away at the edge of the room is equal parts threat and warning. He snatches John’s fourth cocktail out of his hands. John’s reflexes aren’t sharp enough at the moment to stop him or even protest. 

“I don’t know what has you in such a state tonight, Jack, but I will _not_ have you embarrassing me by overindulging in the open bar. You know better than this.”

John purses his lips. Wants to say something to that, but isn’t sure what would be wise to admit right now. It’s not as if he can confide in his dad about _this_ – about Alex and the affair and the fact that he still loves him more than anything in this world. He can remember his dad’s words from that first time he brought Alex home even now. When John first told his dad after years of shame and secrecy. _You’re a grown man, Jack. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but you’ll realize eventually that this lifestyle, the choices you’re making, they’ll never make you happy._ He goes to cross his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly defensive over a confrontation long past, and sways on his feet, catching himself before he stumbles _too_ obviously.

The look from his dad shifts almost into pity, and that cuts worse than the warning. 

“Go get some fresh air,” he says, and John can tell that it’s more an order than a suggestion. “When you come back inside, I expect you’ll conduct yourself to a higher standard.” His gaze is piercing and full of familiar disapproval, and John wants nothing more than to melt into the floor. “What you do while you’re away is one thing, Jack, but when you’re here by my side you know there are expectations.”

John swallows hard and nods, feeling his cheeks heat with shame. He turns for the door. Doesn’t bother to grab his coat from the coat check. The winter air cuts through his suit jacket, and it’s starting to snow. He stares up at the sky as the flakes drift down, as if they’re in slow motion, mesmerizing and beautiful and pure, and it’s so nice to have something to focus on that _isn’t_ Alex. 

Alex and Eliza at the table with the entire Schuyler family. Alex with Eliza leaning delicately against his arm, laughing and smiling and perfectly at ease. Alex pressing affectionate kisses to her cheek every so often. Alex, joking and comfortable with the rest of Eliza’s family, her sisters enjoying his conversation and humor and her parents charmed by his wit and intelligence. Alex, seeming more at home with them than he _ever_ was with John’s family. Not that John can blame him for that.

The snowflakes melt immediately as they hit his upturned face, but he doesn’t wipe away the water gathering there and doesn’t turn away. The cold sting against his skin is clarifying in a way, and he can probably use a little clarity right now. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, but eventually he hears the door to the building open and then close not too far away, and another body appears beside him. John swears, he knows who it is by the pure feeling of his presence alone before turning away from the night sky to see Alex standing there, attempting to light a cigarette while the wind keeps blowing out the flame from his lighter. 

John cups a hand around his to help shield it from the breeze, and Alex hums his gratitude as the end finally catches. 

The silence persists between them for a while, too long almost, and John has ample time to think through their affair, the secretive meetings and stolen intimacies that are no longer his to covet. 

It’s usually Alex who speaks first when the two of them are together, always eager to make his opinion known, to steer and control the flow of conversation, to maneuver all the pieces into place so he comes out with a victory. 

John doesn’t give him that advantage tonight.

“Do you love her?”

Alex is quiet as he blows a cloud of smoke into the air, watching as it fades away. Several fleeting emotions pass over his face, but he doesn’t allow any to stick long enough for John to untangle them. When he doesn’t respond, just presses his lips together and turns to the side to avoid his gaze, John tilts his head. He already knows the answer after watching the two of them together tonight, but he needs to hear it from Alex’s own lips. 

“Alex.” He places a hand lightly on his shoulder, turning him so they’re facing one another properly. Alex drops his gaze to his feet immediately, but John catches the conflict racing behind his eyes. “Do you?”

His words are gentle rather than accusing, and he feels unwelcome clarity washing over him. Eliza is good for Alex in a way he never was. 

When Alex finally responds, his voice comes out quiet and raw. “Yeah. I didn’t think I could but…” He squeezes his eyes shut and John recognizes the way his face pinches tight as he analyzes his own inner battles, his demons, all the reasons he has to run, the same expression he wore back at the start, sitting out on the fire escape as John tried to convince him to take a shot on the two of them. “With Eliza, it works. She makes me better, John,” he says with a sort of urgency that pricks tears at the corner of John’s eyes. “She fills in gaps that I didn’t even know were there. I just– I can’t lose that.”

 _Then why?_ John raises one eyebrow, a silent question, and Alex doesn’t need to hear the words to understand. They know each other too well for that. 

“You know me,” he says, self-disparaging. “When I start to get too close, I run. You’ve said it yourself a hundred times.”

“And with Eliza?”

He can see the way Alex’s face softens at her name now, and if he had any lingering doubts that his previous plan was futile, that look alone would be enough to douse the hopeful fire in his heart. Alex loves her in a way that he never could with John, and it hurts, but it’s also a sort of closure that he didn’t realize he was missing. 

Alex runs a hand back through his hair, dislodging the snowflakes that have started to cling. “With Eliza, I don’t _want_ to run anymore. I want her closer, and…” he hesitates, glancing up at John’s face almost apologetically. “She’s not worried about what she finds when she _does_ get closer. I can let my walls down, let her in, and she doesn’t try to change me or force me into things I’m not ready for. She gives me the space I need to figure things out, and it’s _good_. It’s good in a way I never knew it could be.”

John knows what Alex sounds like when he’s aiming to be accusatory, to be sharp and cruel and cutting, to place blame on someone else, and this is not _that_. He’s gentle and cautious with his words, as if choosing them specifically to soften the comparison. And John can’t deny the difference he’s already seen in Alex, if he’s being honest with himself. He hadn’t realized until now that those improvements might be _because_ of Eliza.

“Before Laf’s wedding…” John starts, his voice a little unsteady, but he’s sure of what he needs to ask. “Had you cheated on her? With anyone else?” 

A dark look passes over Alex’s face at the word and he sighs, as if he had been expecting the question, but he shakes his head. The corner of his lip turns up in a wry smile. “That was a privilege reserved just for you it seems.”

And suddenly, John remembers that night at the hotel, rushed and messy, the feeling of Alex in his arms, Alex curled up against his side as they fell asleep, and hindsight filters the memories in a new, disturbing way as he realizes he had been pulling Alex back down with him. Snatching him away from all of that progress and happiness he’s found with Eliza for scattered moments of bliss. With uncomfortable clarity, he sees that moment for what it was– relapse– and feels the shame well behind his rib cage knowing that he helped facilitate it. He’s still not quite sure he’d take back a moment of it, and that makes the shame burn even brighter. 

“Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

 _Not yet._ John feels his brows rise high on his forehead in surprise because that implies, “You’re going to tell her?” 

Alex shrugs, nervous, but his silence is enough to confirm it. 

He should be proud of Alex for trying to do the right thing, for being honest with Eliza and trying to make things right, but that nagging voice in the back of his mind can’t help reminding him that Alex didn’t do the right thing _for him_. It still stings, bitter and overwhelming, like pressing on an open wound. 

“You realize that’s going to be a hard conversation, right?” he asks, and his voice comes out steady even though he feels fragile. Like glass. Or a loaded gun. 

Alex shrugs again and stomps his cigarette out against the pavement. “One I need to have though, right?” He glances up at John, searching, like even though he’s already decided on this he’s still desperate for confirmation that it’s the right choice. 

And John knows it would be all too easy to manipulate the conversation, get him to continue lying, try and push him further and further from Eliza. But instead he gives Alex a tight lipped smile and just says, “Yeah. It is.”

“Do you think…” Alex pauses for a moment, staring down at his own feet until John squeezes his shoulder in a silent gesture to continue. “Do you think that she’ll forgive me?” 

John can’t imagine anyone willingly giving up a life with Alex, but in truth he has no idea how Eliza will react. So he’s honest with him. Shrugs and levels his gaze. “Only one way to find out, right?”

Alex nods, shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s quiet for long enough that John thinks he’s ready to head back inside, but then he huffs a sigh and looks over again. “I was shit to you.” 

His eyes hold all the regret that John had longed for while it was happening, and he knows it’s probably the closest he’ll ever get to an apology. 

John tamps down the urge to shrug it off. To make this more comfortable. To soften the edges like he’s always tried to do when it comes to his relationship with Alex. “Yeah.” He puts his hands in his own pockets as he braces himself against a gust of wind. “Things seem a lot better with Eliza. You seem happy.”

“I am,” he agrees with a smile that’s almost sad, but then a crease forms in his forehead as he scrunches his face in thought. “I was happy with you too, you know. In the beginning at least. It just didn’t… work. We weren’t right for each other.”

John doesn’t say anything to that. He can’t help but think– if they _didn’t_ work, and Alex and Eliza _do_ , then maybe the problem has always just been him. 

When the silence stretches on for too long, Alex turns back to him, chewing at his lip and glancing up hesitantly. “I should get back.” The words sound like an apology. “You gonna be okay out here?”

John wants to bristle at the implication that he _won’t_ be okay, but, well, he _is_ standing outside a party in the snow by himself. Not exactly the poster child for a stable mental state. He gives a short nod. “Yeah. Just need a few more minutes. It’s too crowded in there.” 

Alex hovers uncertainly for a few seconds, as if he’s considering waiting it out, but then takes a step towards the door before saying, “I’ll see you inside then.” With that, he turns around and doesn’t look back. 

John turns his face back up towards the sky again, the fluffy white flakes slowly drifting down, and feels a comforting sense of clarity. 

* * *

John recovered from their breakup piece by piece, putting himself back together like a particularly complicated puzzle. But he never quite finished the process. It was like there were other pieces mixed in, pieces missing. Like nothing was clicking together quite the way it should. 

The first date he went on post-Alex was an uncomfortable mess. The guy was too quiet, too unsure of himself. They fumbled awkwardly around conversation, and when he asked at the end of the night if John wanted to come back to his place, he politely declined. 

Every guy John went out with after that, he couldn’t help but compare them to Alex. And the problem was that no one _did_ compare to Alex. For all of his flaws, all of the ways he hurt him and tore his heart into pieces, John still found himself yearning for the little details that had endeared him towards Alex in the first place. His overabundance of confidence in social situations, his dry humor, his intelligence, his ability to talk with authority on nearly any subject, his passion, the way he got more affectionate the more tired he got, how peaceful he looked once he finally fell asleep, the particular way his lips quirked up in a smirk when he was teasing. No one else quite compared and it was so damn _frustrating_. 

About half a year after the breakup, he picked up some guy while out dancing, just drunk enough to push down the aggravating nerves that surfaced whenever he tried to connect with someone new. Back at his apartment, he couldn’t remember the guy’s name but he had John pushed up against the wall, dropped down to his knees and was fumbling with his fly, buzzing with eager anticipation as he drew him out of his jeans. John closed his eyes, letting his mind drift at the feeling of fingers tracing along his length, and then wet lips and tongue around him. He sucked in his cheeks as he bobbed his head, just like Alex used to do, and John let out a low moan, grabbing for his hair, digging fingers in at his scalp and helping to set the pace. It felt _good_. Hot and urgent and practiced and almost exactly how Alex would give a blowjob. He was drunk enough that if he let his mind drift, he could picture Alex there instead, on his knees, touching him. Desperate for him. Back where he belonged– with John. 

The thought of it was so appealing that he didn’t even realize when he slipped up and moaned Alex’s name out loud until the guy stopped, pulled off and glanced up at John with an annoyed look. 

“Shit,” John breathed, rubbing a hand over his face in mortified embarrassment. “I am so sorry.”

The guy sat back on his heels to get a better look at him and huffed an impatient sigh. “It’s fine,” he said, not sounding like he meant it at all. “Let’s just keep going.”

But John was already going soft, the edge of frustration in the guy’s voice coupled with the interruption of his Alex-fantasy quickly dampening his mood. He took a small step away when the guy reached for him again. “Sorry, just– I don’t think I can do this. Not tonight at least.”

The guy pushed himself up from the floor with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and blowing a strand of loose, dark hair out of his face. “Well, can you _at least_ help me out?” He gestured with one hand down where he was clearly still hard beneath his jeans, and John cringed. 

“Sorry, just really not in the mood anymore.” 

He winced as the guy tugged his jacket back on with sharp, angry movements, muttering, “Fucking asshole,” under his breath as he stormed out the door and slammed it behind him. 

The silence left behind in his absence was suffocating. 

He flopped down onto his bed with an agonized, exhausted groan, running both his hands over his face. Even now, six months later and multiple states away, Alex’s ghost was still haunting him, making it impossible to move on. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and pulled up his messages, reading through his old texts with Alex. Even towards the end, there was so much comforting familiarity in the way they talked, in the shared experiences. His heart ached with the memory of it. Knowing that he had lost something so special. Knowing how abysmally he was failing at finding it with anyone else. He backed out to the message home screen, hovered over the conversation for a moment, considering the little delete button staring back at him. 

But he couldn’t do it. He clicked into the conversation once again instead and typed out a quick text before he could think about why that might be a disastrous idea. 

_Hey. Was thinking of you today. Hope everything’s going well in DC._

He hit send and tossed the phone onto the other side of his bed– Alex’s side, as his brain still unhelpfully referred to it– and then grabbed a beer to wash down a couple of the pills his doctor had prescribed. He fell into a dreamless sleep not long after. 

When he woke up the next morning, groggy and disoriented, his mind immediately jumped to the text. In a panic, he fumbled with the blankets, shoving them aside and shaking them out until his phone dropped back down onto the sheets. But when he unlocked his phone, there was no response. Just his own pathetic message staring back at him. Unanswered and as alone as he was. 

He wondered if Alex had even read it. 

* * *

The rest of the night passes in a strangely disconnected blur of events, as if John isn’t really watching from his own body. He goes back to the gala and doesn’t bother even pretending to heed his dad’s warning, immediately orders another drink from the bar and savors every goddamn sip because how what the fuck does it matter? He can feel his dad’s disapproving stare. He _can’t_ be surprised though. It’s not as if John hasn’t disappointed him a thousand times before. What’s once more? 

He keeps an eye on Alex as the evening progresses, even as he does his best to mingle, checking in with his dad occasionally and allowing himself to be introduced to a handful of people whose names he doesn’t commit to memory. It’s not as if any of it matters. 

He watches as Alex leads Eliza onto the dance floor, sees him smile bright and warm and hold her close as they move slowly in time to the music, watches her laugh as he trips and fumbles a tiny bit over the length of her skirt, and then Alex is laughing too, holding himself steady against her as he leans in and presses a kiss to her lips. 

And it’s plain to see– Alex is happy. 

Where there used to be jealousy, now John’s heart simply feels at peace. Content. 

As long as Alex is happy without him, nothing else matters. It seems so obvious now. And if he can make sure things stay that way, remove temptation for Alex, help him avoid slipping back into old ways, extract himself from the equation, then that’s the one thing he can do to make this whole thing right. 

At the end of the night, he leaves without making his way back towards the Schuyler table to say goodbye. When he arrives back at the townhouse, his dad is just stepping inside, silhouetted by the light in the entryway, and John feels suddenly glad that his little brothers and sisters are back home in South Carolina. He doesn’t need them here for this. When John steps in the door, dusting snow off his coat, his dad barely turns to look at him as he mentions off-hand, “The guest room is already made up. There’s a towel in there as well.”

John doesn’t hear the words. “You were right, you know.” His voice comes out too clear considering the amount he’s had to drink tonight. He feels startlingly sober. 

His dad stops halfway to the stairs, turns to face John properly, confusion evident in the crease of his brow. Shakes his head, not following the words that seemingly came out of nowhere. 

John’s heart pounds a frantic, uneven beat behind his ribcage, but he’s already committed to this. It’s for the best. And he knows he can’t go through with it without getting this little bit of closure first. “You were right. About Alex. About all of it.” He can feel his voice about to crack with the emotion seizing up in his chest, so he takes a steadying breath, trying not to let the next words shake. “I’m never going to be happy.”

John can still remember vividly, in a rare tender moment between the two of them, his dad’s words when he asked if he ever planned on remarrying. _I think we only get one true love._ Well, John knows who that is for him. His true love. And he wasted his opportunity– too stupid and too blind to figure out the right way to navigate the relationship, to give him what he needed. What do you do when your soulmate doesn’t love you back? When you’ve thrown away your one shot at happiness?

His dad takes a tentative step towards him, his face paling just slightly at the tone in John’s voice, the weight to his words. “He was there tonight, wasn’t he?” he asks, realization dawning and a careful note of concern setting into his tone. “With Phillip’s daughter?”

John doesn’t answer the question. Shrugs off the hand that reaches towards him, an attempt to rest comfortingly on his shoulder, and turns back towards the door so he doesn’t have to see the pity in his dad’s eyes. It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to melt his resolve. He’s never felt more sure of something in his life. 

He exhales slowly before speaking again. “You were right. I just wasn’t made for this shit,” he says, aware with a detached sort of irony that he’s echoing Alex’s words from so long ago. “A happy life with someone who loves me. I’m never going to find that. I guess I should thank you for trying to warn me,” he adds with half a laugh, humorless and flat. 

He doesn’t hear his dad approach from behind, too caught up in his own words, and he startles when a hand closes around his upper arm. John shakes him off with a rough shove. “Jack,” he says, a plea for _something_ in his voice, though John’s not sure what he’s looking to get out of him. “I didn’t mean to…” he fumbles over his words, clearly caught out because they both knew _exactly_ what he meant to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.” 

John can’t figure out why he’s apologizing _now_. There’s no reason for it. “You didn’t _hurt_ me,” he lies. “And I’m not looking for an apology. I just figured you should know.” His voice feels lifeless. His whole _body_ feels lifeless. It’s oddly fitting because, without love, what is there to live for? 

His dad seems to be struggling with what else to say, so John saves him the trouble. It’s the least he can do after all the years of being a drain on his resources, a disappointment. A whole life failing him as he constantly tried to push his son to be something better than he was. “I’m tired,” John says, short and simple, and turns towards the stairs. 

“Jack?” His dad stops him, just at the bottom step, the concern evident on his face when John glances back. “Get some rest, but let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right down the hall.” 

John heads up the stairs without a word. He’s done demanding help from other people. They only offer it because they feel bad for him. Because they see how pathetic he is. How _alone_ he is. He’s done being a burden. 

He makes a stop on his way to the guest room, slips into the main bathroom in the hall and roots around in the medicine cabinet, grabbing bottles of painkillers and Xanax that must have been long forgotten. Brings the armful back to the guest room and dumps them on the mattress. Pulls out his sleeping pills from his bag as well and adds them to the pile. Scans the labels with a sort of clinically detached feeling. He knows what he has to do, and he’s going to get it _right_. He checks dosages and considers which combinations will be most likely to get the job done. And then he glances at the nightstand where his phone rests, too tempting to ignore. 

He doesn’t want to inconvenience Alex anymore, but he has to let him know. He can’t stand the thought of Alex living in a world where he doesn’t know that it was _always_ him, right until the very end. So he grabs the phone and pulls up their texts again, all the banter between them these last few months tainted with the lens of hindsight, knowing that he was helping Alex sabotage something that’s so _good_ for him. He shakes his head to himself and feels the tears start to slip down his cheeks. Sends off the text with shaking fingers, short and sweet, and then swallows down as many of the pills as he can, forcing himself to swallow mouthfuls of water from the sink in the attached guest bathroom until he’s emptied the bottles of painkillers and made some headway on the others. Then he drops down heavily onto the bed and waits, his mind blissfully clear– ready.

John can feel his senses start to leave him in bits and pieces, and it’s almost like he’s underwater, drowning, but not struggling against it. As he fades into unconsciousness, his phone rests next to him on the pillow, the message on the screen bright and glaring in the darknesses of the room: _I still love you- always have always will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry :(
> 
> Chapter title is from _Gravity_ by Sara Bareilles
> 
> Leave comments down below 
> 
> Come yell at/cry with me on tumblr @ThatWouldBee-Enough and on Insta @thatwouldbeeenough


End file.
